


The Kraken's Daughter

by miniCrisGM



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Did I Mention Angst?, Elizabeth and MC are friends, Eventual Smut, F/M, Finally, Fluff, I'm just adding a new character but will more or less follow the plot of the movies, I'm just here to have fun, Lots of Angst, NSFW, Reader is Davy Jones' daughter, Wordcount: Over 100.000, if you love Barbossa this fic is for you, more of an AU by the time we get to the second movie, she's an ass but a loveable ass, the smut is here maties, turns out it is slow burn after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 115,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniCrisGM/pseuds/miniCrisGM
Summary: Who doesn't hate it when your mother drowns just as she gives birth to you and you subsequently end up being adopted by Davy Jones and becoming the terror of the Seven Seas? That was your life until you were ordered to find Jack Sparrow to settle his debt with your captain but instead you found Hector Barbossa... and nothing was the same again.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), Hector Barbossa/Reader
Comments: 328
Kudos: 346





	1. Drowned beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> My first PotC fanfic, as I felt there weren't enough fanfics romancing Barbossa out there! I hope you like it and if you do please leave a comment, it gives us authors life!

A baby was crying.

¿A baby was crying? ¿In Davy Jones’ Locker? Impossible.

Still, the sound was unmistakable. Even under the water, amongst the slow lull of the currents, the crew could clearly hear a babe’s weeping carried through the waves. Never ever had something like this happened in the Locker. Spirits grumbled, rumbled, sometimes even muttered as if they still cared about the world they had left, but they certainly never cried. And there were never babies.

Maccus waited for his captain’s command. He knew Davy Jones’ temper to be fickle and changing and certainly not bound to be improved by a sobbing baby. He could barely stand to go past the lifeless shadows that populated the Locker, a painful reminder of promises broken and curses still very much alive. The rest of the crew held their breath while Davy Jones ever so slowly approached the taffrail. His wooden leg boomed with each strike on the deck, and even the small molluscs that lived in the _Dutchman_ seemed to cower in this presence.

“What is that”.

“It seems to be a baby, Captain.”

“I know what a baby sounds like, you idiot, I want to know what a baby is doing here”.

He needn’t raise his voice to make Maccus feel like he had been strung up and left to dry.

“The latest shipwreck, Captain. Maybe it was on board and it… survived?”

“Nobody survives the Locker! By definition!”

There was obviously nothing Maccus could say that would assuage the captain so he just stepped back and let him decide the course of action.

“Get closer. I want to see it”.

Davy Jones could famously only set foot on dry land once every ten years, but that of course didn’t include the Locker, which could have been his kingdom if only he had so desired, so it was easy enough for him to leave the _Dutchman_ and descend onto the pristinely white sand beach. Everything in the Locker had an air of irreality, for it was indeed irreal, a world beyond the living one where everything was exactly the same… except a little weirder.

That, apparently, included a very loud, screeching baby turning and tossing on the sand.

Davy Jones knew the Locker held many wonders and many horrors, but had definitely never expected… _that_.

He stared at the baby as if it were a small kraken tentacle that had come to life. It was impossible, certainly, yet there it was. Screaming its lungs out. Lovely. Terrifying, too.

“What do we do with it?”, murmured somebody, probably Hadras, he had always had a very big mouth. Davy Jones whipped his head towards them, tentacles bristling everywhere, but then the baby redoubled its efforts to get attention and it was all the crew could do to just stare at it in disbelief.

“We do _nothing_. It’s not our problem. What the Locker takes, the Locker keeps”, sentenced Jones, and started pulling away.

Then the baby mumbled something.

It weren’t really words, not coming from a newborn, merely a series of sounds, strung together, but spoken with such a shrill, pleading little voice that Davy Jones, predator of the seas, nightmare of sailors all across the globe, stopped dead in his tracks.

The crew gasped, half expecting Jones to throw the baby to the sea or to skewer it with his sword, but the baby in question didn’t seem particularly bothered. It raised its little blotched hands, full of sand and dirt, and pointed them towards Jones, opening and closing its meaty fists as if trying to catch the tentacular face. Jones retraced his steps under the amazed eyes of his crew and knelt next to the baby. It stared at Jones’ clear blue eyes and all of a sudden snatched one of the tentacles in its little hands. The crew gasped collectively. You didn’t touch the tentacles. Everybody knew you just _didn’t_ touch the tentacles.

“This is going to get bloody”, said someone.

“I don’t want to look!”, said another.

The baby poked the tentacle, eyes wide open in awe, and let out a bubbly laugh.

Without another word, Jones hauled it up in his arms and headed towards the ship. Startled by the lack of blood or any other means of disposing of the noisy and inexplicable piece of meat, the rest of the pirates stared at each other and shrugged, only to follow their captain back to the _Dutchman_.

“I might keep it”, was the curt explanation that Maccus received as to why suddenly their ship had become a nursery.

“But Captain”, he protested, “he… she… whatever it is isn’t bound to the Dutchman! The curse… The oath!”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about any oath!”, he spat back. The baby wiggled softly in his arms. It didn’t seem to mind being surrounded by putrid wood or fish-headed seamen with teeth the size of its head. A promising beginning.

“The sea is mine to command and I take what I want as I see fit. And _this_ comes with me”.

There was to be no room for discussion. The decision had been made and Davy Jones’ word aboard the Dutchman was final. The baby stayed.

The ship sank into the waters, ready to make the leap into the mortal world, and the baby looked just fine under water too. Jones cradled it in his arms, the strangest thing he had ever done, and felt something he hadn’t felt since he had carved out his heart and thrown it away.

“Well, well, well… Aren’t you a weird little monster”. The baby answered by producing a bubble of spit. It wasn’t breathing and it had no pulse, and yet it was alive.

“I think we’re going to get along splendidly”.


	2. Drink up, me hearties

“Jack Sparrow? Of course I know ‘im, the bastard. Still owes me five golden pieces, a hat _and_ a goat! Wanna know ‘bout the goat?”

“Sparrow? Heard he were last seen in Taiwan some months ago. Dunno ‘bout that, though”.

“Nah, mate, sorry, no idea. What I _do_ know, however, is where you can find the best rum producers this side of the Caribbean. See, if you just want to follow me this way…”

“Jack Sparrow?”

“ _Jack Sparrow?_ ”

You slammed the bottle of rum against the wooden counter. Damn, it _was_ good. It was just a shame that that poor sod and his friends had tried to rob you blind at gunpoint as soon as you stepped into the building. You could have been celebrating together now, but, alas, more rum for you.

“You okay, lass?”

You looked up at the innkeeper, who seemed to have asked more out of boredom than of a desire to actually know what was going on with you. The inn had a few patrons sitting scattered around the tables, but all in all it was still quiet. The fun only started after the sun went down. But you had had a very long and frustrating day and didn’t really feel like chatting.

“Yeah, great. Just hanging out with my best friend Mr Bottle. Have you met him?”

“Hm”. He continued to clean the glasses with a cloth of dubious provenance while eyeing your bottle. “You gonna drink all that yourself?”

Oh, if he only knew how much more you had stashed away after disposing of the bodies of the unfortunate robbers. You had rum for yourself and for your crew _and_ some more after that.

“Sure I am”, and after rising the bottle in a toast you finished off the liquid in one gulp. Thank the gods your room was on the first floor: right now the only thing you needed was a good night of sleep and not hearing Jack Sparrow’s name again in the next ten hours or you would kill somebody. Again.

Returning back home with empty hands wasn’t good; you had worked hard for your reputation and hated ruining because some half-drunk ass had decided to disappear from the face of the earth. But at least you had managed to gather some intel about other stuff that the captain would like. It could’ve been worse. You weren’t meeting until the next morning, so you could get a good night’s rest first.

Nights in Tortuga weren’t particularly quiet or peaceful, but you managed to sleep through it just waking up once or twice, and after barking out a very detailed death threat to the three drunkards who were causing a racket outside your door nobody bothered you again.

The day opened up nice and windy, perfect for sailing. Not that the _Dutchman_ needed wind, of course, but it was fun to pretend sometimes. You stared at the beach, still empty at that time of the morning, except for the stray couple that was still reeling from the fun of last night. The sea roared, white foam billowing around you, the water up to your waist. Still too shallow; you thanked the gods that fate had sent you to the Caribbean; imagine what this would be like up north! You had visited the frozen shores of the Arctic just once and weren’t keen to repeat the experience. You were undead, not a masochist.

You began to swam, getting further and further away from the beach until the sand was just a bright point in the horizon and below your feet a black chasm of water waited for you. The depths of the ocean were unnerving for most sailors, but not for you. You welcomed it and let go, emptying your lungs of air and sinking downwards like a rock.

And then down became up.

An irresistible force pushed you against the pressure of the water, impossibly rising from that dark abyss towards the light that shone through the waves. You felt the familiar touch of wood, seashells and algae, and smiled.

The _Flying Dutchman_ broke the surface of the sea and bounced on top of the waves, oozing water out of every opening and porthole, and the ship came to life.

“Look who’s back!”

“Thought you had forgotten about us already, chief”.

You got to your feet and laughed, hugging some of the men who came to greet you. “Men” was a bit of an overstatement. If you let your eyelids droop and cocked your head sideways, you could juuuust about identify them as formerly having been human, but now they were an unsettling mix of fish and seashell, most of them having adopted the shapes of creatures you would not want to bump into while taking a relaxing bath in the sea. Some of them had even fused with the ship, which you thought was rather distasteful but hey, who were you to judge.

“Nah, you guys are too much of a pain in the ass to forget. Home sweet home, or ship sweet ship, whatever you prefer”.

Maccus came up to you, ever the gentleman. You had seen him beat other pirates senseless, slit throats and literally bite off heads with his shark teeth, but with you he was always as polite as a pirate could be. The only problem with him was his two hammer shark eyes in addition to his two human eyes; you never quite knew where to look.

“Welcome back”.

“Thanks”, you smiled. You were genuinely glad to see everybody; so much time on land could get lonely.

“Anything interesting? Found Sparrow?”

You massaged the bridge of your nose. The damn question; it was coming, to be sure, and answering to Maccus wouldn’t be half as bad as doing it to the captain, but still.

“Afraid not. He’s vanished into thin air. As he’s know to do. I do have a lead or two, though”.

“That should be enough”.

“No lashes for me then?”, you asked in a playful tone, waiting to see Maccus blush. Ah, there it was. You knew, as did everybody aboard except apparently the captain, that he had a thing for you but had never dared to act on it, and you devilishly delighted in making him very aware of it. It was not ill-meant, but you were a pirate, black heart and all that, so you couldn’t help yourself.

“See you later, Maccus. I have to report to the captain”.

“You do that”, he muttered and left in a hurry, still slightly red in the face.

Davy Jones’ cabin was off-limits to everyone, but you had always taken pride in flaunting the rules. You had risen to First Mate quite fast and that gave you privileges, right? Everything was as you had last left it: the decorations on the wall, the chests filled of the gods knew what, for Davy Jones was not one to have cravings or hobbies, and rising in the centre of it all the organ. You hated that organ – it only produced eerie music that made you want to slit your veins. Or would, if you could actually do it. Thankfully, he didn’t play it as much when you were around. Gods forbid anybody thought him moody.

His tentacles bristled, sensing you as soon as you set foot in the room. He was sitting in front of the organ, his back to you. A solitary bottle of something lay on the table across from him.

“Oh goodie!”. You snatched the bottle, smelt its content, grimaced and drank it anyway. “What’s this, where did you get it from?”

“Miss Jones”. The reply was clipped. “Report”.

You knew that tone. You straightened up, left the bottle on the table and very grudgingly told him of your moderate-but-not-quite-successful success. In short, no, you hadn’t found Sparrow: he had suffered a mutiny from his crew some two or three years after Davy Jones had brought the Black Pearl back from the depths and now was gods knew where.

“I did find out about a rum producer which makes excellent rum. Truly fantastic. And this other business with a goat, very disturbing…”

“So Sparrow is dead?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that, Captain. I think you’d have noticed his soul going down into the Locker”.

Jones left his pipe by his side, tentacles moving all over the place. You had to make use of all your willpower to keep yourself from poking them. It had driven it crazy when you were a kid and you _loved_ driving him crazy.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. And he still owes me”.

“I do have a lead”. Jones turned to you, interest sparking in his eyes. If one disregarded the whole octopus business, he had really beautiful eyes. What would he look like as a human, you wondered.

“Go on”.

“The _Pearl_ still sails, with many rumours surrounding it. A cursed ship, they call it, a ship with black sails that's crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out”.

Jones laughed, a watery sound.

“Sounds like my kind of ship”.

“I think I can track it. If Sparrow is still alive, he’ll be looking for the ship, so if I find the ship, I’ll eventually find Sparrow”.

“Very well. Good job, Miss Jones. At rest”.

You hunched your shoulders and sat on the table, hand still around the mysterious bottle. Formal reporting was never fun.

“Sorry I couldn’t find him. He’s one slippery bastard. But I will, I promise”.

“It’s okay, Meridith. We have all eternity to hunt him down”.

Davy Jones approached you, wooden leg dragging through the sodden floor. He levelled his eyes with you and you leaned into him. He was cold and squishy, something that as a kid made you laugh and annoyed him to no end. A lock of hair fell in front of your face and he pulled it back carefully, almost lovingly, with a tentacle.

“I missed you, dad”.

“I missed you too. I’ll deny having ever said that, though”.

“I know”, you chuckled. You rested your body against his, letting go to the peaceful lull of the current that rocked the ship sideways. Jones fell silent for a while and then took the bottle from your hand.

“So tell me, if Sparrow is rotting away somewhere, who is captain of the Pearl now?”

“I have a name. I’m _so_ looking forward to meeting the mutinous man himself”. You looked at Jones mischievously. “Hector Barbossa will never know what hit him”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm having so much fun writing this. Can't wait for the Meridith!Reader to meet Barbossa!


	3. Road Town

Even men so evil that Hell itself spat them back out must need to relax and have fun every now and again, right? And where would any pirate go if not Tortuga?

As disgustingly filthy and degenerate as it could get, Tortuga had a special charm that you couldn’t really grasp but still enjoyed. The dingy inn where you usually stayed was little more than an overgrown shack in the to the east of the town, but it helped that it wasn’t right in the middle of everything when shit went down so you could get a good night’s sleep.

“Meridith, you’re back again”.

You waved to the innkeeper, the same old man who still wondered how on earth you could down a bottle of rum by yourself in less than five minutes, and pointed to the top floor.

“Is my usual room empty?”

“No, the King of England came to stay and asked to the suite. Yes, of course it is, we’re not exactly overflowing with customers”.

“It might do well for the business to ask yourself why, my friend”.

“Go fuck yourself”.

Without looking back, you lifted your middle finger in a very unladylike manner and darted for the room, eager to start poking your nose around other people’s business. Those who frequented Tortuga didn’t accustom to be as nice and polite as the innkeeper, so you’d better steel yourself for a brawl or two if people didn’t like the questions you were asking. Not that it mattered to you, you had absolutely nothing to lose from a fight, and a bit of adrenaline was always welcome.

After several weeks of sailing around asking after Jack Sparrow, you knew better than to mention his name to the shadier individuals of Tortuga… or the women. You had been mistaken for his latest tart up to four times in three different towns, earning five separate slaps in the face from jilted lovers. You couldn’t blame them, they had trusted a charlatan who had used them and left, but him… Sparrow might owe a debt to the captain, but you too had a score to settle with him in the name of all those enraged women.

You could find scores of men like Jack Sparrow in Tortuga. Lift a rock and four or five scuttled out. Bastards, the lot of them.

You didn’t do romance. You _did_ do men, from time to time, in a very un-romantic way. And women, occasionally. You had to take your fun where you could find it. But not feelings. Those were reserved for your crew and family, and that was it. You didn’t want to end up like your father, tricked and cursed by the goddess he had loved, his heart torn out and buried in a gods’ forsaken island.

A magnanimous passer-by who was about to be smacked in the head by some very dubious gentlemen dropped a bottle of some questionable liquid to the ground, which you promptly rescued before it was trampled under the feet of the many revellers who pranced around the place. Always fun, Tortuga, always music to dance to, fights to join, rum to drink. This was the life!

You indulged yourself for a bit, dancing and laughing and flirting with everybody that came your way, but alas, you had work to do. Ripping away from the main floor, you scanned the tavern and the balustrade, searching for the people you knew held the information in Tortuga. One of them looked back at you and you readied your purse. And stole another bottle of rum, it could always come in handy to bribe someone.

You sat down with a thump next to the man, who had his face half covered by a ridiculously conspicuous hat. Several other rather unfriendly-looking men stood around him, as if they feared you might try to stab him or something. Which somebody probably had at some point, to be fair.

“I want information”, you said, dropping the bag of golden coins on the table. The metallic chink against wood seemed to turn the man’s attention to interest.

“What can I do for you, Miss…?”

“Jones”.

“Miss Jones, indeed”. Luckily for you, Jones was a common enough surname that nobody even thought to link you with the feared captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , and you were plain enough that it was easy to go unremarked in Tortuga.

“I’m looking for the _Black Pearl_ and its captain”.

“The _Black Pearl_ , is it? Are you sure about that? They say it’s cursed, that it’s a ship crewed by―”

“Crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out, yes, _I know_. I just need its damn location”.

The man sat back, apparently unconvinced.

“What business do you have with the _Pearl_?”

“None of your business, mate. Either you want the money or you don’t, but don’t make me waste my time”.

“It’s not an endeavour for the faint of heart”.

“I’ll be the judge of that”.

“Fine. Fine! But don’t blame me if you find exactly what you’re looking for. Nobody knows where the _Pearl_ makes port, but it’s been appearing along the coast, raiding town after town… as if it was looking for something”.

“I didn’t think pirates raided as a hobby, no”.

“I hear they’ll be visiting Road Town next”.

“What for?”

“That’s for you to discover, poppet. I don’t know”.

You reined in your desire to punch him in the face and fingered the money, still in the bag, lest somebody decided they’d rather keep it.

“Is your information legit?”

“As true as it can be. I give you my word”.

“Nobody’s word is worth anything these days, but I’ll take my chances. But if you’re tricking me, man”, you lowered your tone, suddenly a different light glinting in your eyes, “I’ll make you regret it”.

You swaggered out of the tavern, leaving the man and his lackeys at a loss as to what to make of your words, and smiled to yourself. Things were finally starting to go your way.

Road Town wasn’t that far away, a place of continuous conflict between the Spanish, the Dutch and the British, who you could only tell apart from the styles of their hats. All of them were the same conceited “conquerors” who could not wrest from you control of the seas no matter how hard they tried.

Built within a valley with a beautiful view of the sea, Road Town was a lovely place to go for a walk, have a nice dinner and admire all the money-laundering churches the old nations were building in the “new” world. What would those men in cassocks think of you if they only knew? And what could the _Black Pearl_ possibly want of a place like this? It hardly looked like it was overflowing with shiny booty, so there must be a less obvious explanation…

From the rooftop of the town hall you could see the main buildings of the area, including the bank, but that was too boring. No pirate ever dealt with banks except to rob the shit out of them. So you mingled. Pretended to be a lad looking for a job, a prostitute, a drunk, a lost sailor, and asked questions until you got pointed in the right direction. Yes, there had been pirates here at least a year ago. No, they had not ransacked the town. Yes, they had spent money. Lots of it, apparently. An overflow of golden coins that had been quickly accepted by all the greedy pimps and innkeepers in Road Town. Outside the prim enclosure of the British district, everything was up for sale and nobody gave a toss whether they were serving law-abiding citizens or pirates.

“Very weird, the lot o’em”.

“Hm?”

You had bought drinks for a couple of ladies who had attended to the pirates on their last visit around. They seemed happy enough to talk to someone of their own sex and you were going to make the most of that.

“Greedy little shits like you wouldn’t imagine. Crawling all o’er the place”.

“Paying weird too”.

That caught your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not like we got to see the money up close, anyway”, one of them complained, “but they ain’t paying in normal doubloons, I’ll tell ya that”.

“True that, true that! They be using… whassit, lil’ coins with lil’ skeleton faces or something like that. Spending them like there was no tomorrow”.

“And where do you say I can find these doubloons?”

The door to the pimp’s office – if you could call a bedroom with a desk and some parchment and, surprisingly, no chairs an office – flew cleanly off its hinges with the kick you landed on it, waking up the man with the fright of his life. He tumbled over his own bedsheets, which were covered with very suspicious stains, and fell down, half naked, landing at your feet.

“What the fuuuu―”

His voice was cut short when your knife pressed into his throat.

“Why, good evening, sir”, you said, crouching down, your best smile on. “I hear you have something I’m interested in”.

“I have nothing for the likes of you, you slut, get out of here or―”

“Ah, ah, ah”. You pressed the knife a little more, blood welling at its tip. The man went white. “Those are hardly manners. Let’s start again. I hear you’ve something I want”.

“Please don’t kill me”, he muttered.

“You know the strange skeleton doubloons you got from a bunch of pirates last year or so? Think I could take a look at ‘em?”

“I… Ah…”

Your boot went into his big, fat, hairy belly and he paled even more.

“Yes! Yes! They’re in the chest, that chest over there! Please don’t kill me. Take them all! They paid with that all over the town but they’re so creepy nobody wants to trade with them. Please take them and don’t kill me”.

You smiled again, that sweet, innocent smile that made people melt.

“Why, thank you, sir”, and slit his throat in one swift movement.

Well, not quite. You left a tiny bit of this artery uncut so that he would bleed slowly to death. You’d never liked pimps.

Ignoring his faint gurgling, you approached the chest. Amongst many other useless mementos you found, as the pimp had said, several golden pieces. Six of them, pure gold, made up of several concentric circles decorated with geometric patterns and right on its centre, a smiling skull whose empty sockets seemed to laugh at you. Yeah, it was creepy.

When you touched it a strange sensation ran up your arm, cold as ice, and a shrill cry sounded, very far away. You shivered. The wind was changing.

Cannon fire boomed in the distance. The attack had begun. As fast as you could, you stuffed all the coins in your pockets and headed outside, where the fire had started to spread and the smell of gunpowder impregnated the air. People screamed and ran everywhere, in utter chaos, and then the pirates appeared.

They had come out of nothing, as fast and unpredictable as the clouds that suddenly obscured the sky. The first one came at you, sword out and high, and you had just enough time to duck and swerve, kicking him in the shins as soon as he had his back to you. There were more behind you, setting fire to everything and ruthlessly cutting down everybody that stood in their way. Two more attacked you but you were quicker than them. Your sword was fast and precise and you protected your left flank with your knife, so there were no possible openings in your defence.

The pirates were sloppy, preferring brutal efficiency to style, so you had the upper hand thanks to all the lessons Davy Jones had drilled into you since you were a child and the variety amongst the members of the crew, with meant you could fight in somewhere around fifteen different fencing styles. And you too were brutally efficient.

One of them went down with a knife in their eye at the same time as you ducked and slammed your sword into the stomach of the second, who fell down without a cry, but with the momentum of your turns one of the coins fell out of your pocket and the third pirate saw it.

“The gold! She has the gold!”, he yelled, and before you could realise it five more swords surrounded you. The ragged pirates looked fiercely angry, their mottled teeth glinting in the fire. They were going to kill you. Or not. You raised your hands, palms spread wide, and grinned.

“Parley?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having sooo much fun writing this. The first meeting with Barbossa is very near! If you like it please do comment! It gives me life to hear from you ^_^


	4. A man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out

You had read some time ago the Codex of the Pirate Brethren, that one time you had had to infiltrate the Shipwreck Cove to get info on Mistress Ching’s routes and had ended up with a bullet through your skull which had taken an annoyingly long time to heal. The fifteen year-old you had found the Code _extremely_ boring, but it seems life always finds a way and, when finding yourself with six swords pointed directly at your face, you had had an epiphany remembering the right of parley.

Honestly, it had been a surprise that the men had actually deigned to respect the code and hadn’t just skewered you where you stood to take the gold. They were leading you, at gunpoint, to their ship, muttering under their breath something about your mother and a goat, when the _Pearl_ finally appeared before you.

“Holy crap”, you whispered.

The light of the moon could barely pierce the thick mantle of clouds that covered the sky, but even with such dim illumination you could see that it was indeed a cursed ship. It was shrouded in mist, an unnatural fog that enveloped it and gave it a ghostly appearance, which was only heightened by the fact that the sails, pitch black, were torn and ripped all over. No normal ship could ever sail in that state.

This was patently _not_ a normal ship.

The pirates misinterpreted your amazement as fear and jeered. If they only knew that you were more than used to ships that moved through supernatural means and that awakened fear in the hearts of men… But you had to admit that the _Pearl_ had _something_. An allure, a charm of sorts. No wonder Davy Jones had risen it from the depths. Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be the kind of man worthy of such a magnificent ship.

You were dragged aboard, clutching the pocket where the rest of the coins were hidden. They probably suspected you had more than the single one you had dropped, but they’d rather have their captain deal with you.

The crew was a motley bunch of no-goods, that much you could see, that stared at you as if you were Davy Jones himself. Had they never seen a female pirate before? Gods.

“What have we here?”

The voice came from up high, from the quarterdeck behind you. Presenting a deep West Country accent, it wasn’t as deep as you’d expected, but it sounded full of wit and intelligence. Interesting. You slowly turned and met face to face with Hector Barbossa.

Faint scars and pockmarks crisscrossed his face, with an especially prominent one under his right eye, and he wore his auburn hair long and loose, save for a single long plait that fell to one side. He styled a rather messy beard that didn’t cover much of his face, and a wide-brim hat with several pheasant feathers that glinted with more grace than he had any right to. You stared into his eyes, as blue and deep as the sea you had been born to.

“This wench was carrying a gold piece, captain”, answered a massive black man with scarifying around his eyes. You shot him a glance; you could probably take him in a fight, but bloody hell was he ginormous. Almost twice your size and only half as friendly.

“I didn’t know we took prisoners, Bo’sun”.

“She invoked the right of parley, Captain”.

“Ah”. He turned his eyes back to you. “Did she now”.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Barbossa”. You bowed theatrically, shaking off the pirates who tried to keep you still. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you”.

“Have ye now? And why would that be?”

You had to think fast. You didn’t exactly want to _befriend_ these people, you just needed to trail the _Pearl_ until Sparrow reappeared. You’d certainly never intended to get mixed in all this bullshit. The remaining coins clinked in your pocket. Five more of them.

“From one pirate to another, I was curious about the truth behind the tales of the man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out”, you replied. Barbossa descended from the quarterdeck and approached you with a smug smile. He had style, dammit, why did a man his age have more elegance than you in a single movement?

“From one pirate to another?”. He laughed. “You don’t look much of a pirate to me, miss”.

Oh.

“Have you come to negotiate for your town? Is that it?”

Oh, no.

“You should’ve thought better about getting involved with pirates, my dear. You might’ve found exactly what you were looking for”.

Oh, _no_.

“Dear me, captain, I’m _so sorry_ ”, you replied, putting on your best damsel-in-distress voice. “How could I have _ever_ known! After all, I’m just a _girl_ ”.

The crew laughed around you. Of course the girl was scared. She had wanted to play pirate and she had bitten more than she could chew. Only Barbossa looked at you with a strange glint in his eye, as if he didn’t totally buy your performance.

“I’m just a girl”, you repeated, “who happens to have your gold”.

And pulling out the remaining coins, their skeletons shimmering in the light of the burning city, you kicked Barbossa in the gut as hard as you possibly could, focusing all the annoyance at having been so rudely downplayed in the sole of your boot, and as he went down with a cry, you jumped onto the bannister and proudly displayed the golden coins.

“No!”

“She had more gold!”

“Why did no one search her??”

Those who had not run to their captain, only to get pushed out of the way by Barbossa regaining his dignity as well as he could and getting to his feet, gasped as they saw the doubloons.

“You…!”

“I don’t know what you want with these but I think that, for now, I’ll keep them”. You smiled, all politeness. “You should’ve thought better about getting involved with girls, captain. You might’ve found exactly what you were looking for”.

And with this you jumped into the sea.

Barbossa tried to catch you but you slipped through his fingers and disappeared into the dark night sea. Even through the waves you could hear him scream and curse, and you smiled to yourself.

You swam until you were well out of Road Town and then a bit more. Holding your breath under water had never been a problem for you, and you didn’t emerge onto a deserted beach until the sun dawned in the horizon. You sat on the sand for a bit, feeling the water dry off your clothes and hair, and looked at the coins. There was something unsettling about them, something forbidden that made you wish you had never touched them, but at the same time they were entrancing. You wondered why the _Black Pearl_ was so desperate to get their hands on them as your turned them around on your hand.

“Well, well, Hector Barbossa. One coin down, five to go”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh they're finally meeting! How exciting!! :D  
> Thanks for reading and do leave a comment if you like the fic! It gives me so much energy to keep writing!


	5. Encounter in Roseau

If you had to be honest with yourself, you were a little bit of a bitch. Not an evil one, mind you, or a heartless one (you _did_ have a heart, just not a functional one), but a mischievous one. You liked driving people up the wall and were quite good at it; you’d had ample practice growing up in the _Dutchman_ , where it soon became clear that nobody know quite what to do with a baby that quickly turned into something way worse: a kid.

Your talent for pissing off people was very handy in your line of work, and together with your inability to die no matter what you had become used to fighting your way out of any situation you ended up getting caught it.

It increasingly seemed that Hector Barbossa wasn’t something you could fight your way out of.

You tracked the Pearl and its rabid captain to Roseau down south, which was also to be duly burned to the ground and thoroughly raided in the pirates’ search of the mysterious skeleton golden pieces. The attack started just like the one in Road Town, as the sun was setting and night descended; the _Pearl_ had appeared like a phantom in the horizon, shrouded in mist, and its men hadn’t left a stone unturned until they found two meagre gold coins.

Leaning against a pole from the harbour, next to the small fishing dinghies, you observed some four canoes filled with pirates go ashore and start spreading terror. Two of them looked remarkably similar to the ones you had cut down in Road Town, but it couldn’t be. No man could survive a knife through the head and a sword through the gut. The light must be playing tricks on your eyes.

The _Pearl_ had been left with a skeleton crew, the majority of which was busy firing its cannons at the fort walls, so nobody noticed you crawl up the sternpost and onto the quarter deck. You landed on your belly with a soft thump, but since the ship was moored until the raid was done, the rudder was empty. Down on the deck, bellowing orders at the crew, you could see the massive bloke Barbossa had called Bo’sun. Yeah, you thought, maybe let’s avoid him for now, shall we?

A faint voice in your head kept screeching that you were crazy, that this wasn’t the plan. You just had to tail the _Pearl_ and wait until Sparrow made an appearance so you could dump the black spot on him and mark him as food for the kraken. What the fuck were you doing aboard the _Pearl_? Were you expecting a free tour or something?

You wanted to know more about this Barbossa guy. Know more about him… and fuck him up.

For once, someone had managed to royally piss _you_ off.

“Yi din’t liike like mich if i pirite ti mi, wah wah wah. Asshole”. You crawled on all fours through the quarter deck and lowered yourself in front of the doors to the captain’s cabin taking advantage of the shadows that fell on the ship’s stern. You couldn’t see Barbossa on deck and there was no sign of movement in the cabin through the glass windows, so you quietly slipped inside.

It was as though you’d just entered another world. Sophisticated, baroque, at odds with the roughness of the pirates that stood watch just a few metres away. Somehow it suited the man that had mocked you in your last encounter. Windows of panelled glass everywhere, overlooking the water, a tacky Persian carpet with arabesques, pitch-black reliefs of weird creatures on the walls, desks chock-full of papers and books and candles (which didn’t seem very smart) and a round mahogany table commanding the centre of the room. Under some of the desks there were chests, of every colour, shape and size, no doubt filled with the booty of hundreds of raids. Why then give that much importance to some measly, freaky pieces of gold?

A basket full of apples stood in the middle of the table. Red and green, they invited you to take a bite. You gently brushed their skin with your finger and took one of them in your hand. A metallic noise swished behind you and the cold edge of a blade kissed your neck.

“Breaking in as well as thieving, is it now?”

You smiled but didn’t move. Barbossa kept his hand up, his sword biting into your throat.

“For a pirate you have a pretty low tolerance to law infringement, captain”.

“Well, call me picky but I don’t fancy having other people taking what is mine”.

Now you did face him, turning on your heel with such speed that he didn’t see your own blade coming out of its sheath and going to rest against his crotch.

“Am I supposed to read something into this, miss?”, he said, looking down.

“Don’t get carried away, you just happen to have a lovely artery in your groin that would make you bleed out in seconds”.

He returned your smile but didn’t make any sign of removing his sword. Interesting. He wasn’t afraid. Well, that was a first. Should you try to scare him some other way? Maybe push into his sword, let it go through your neck, through your flesh, muscles, sinew, push out the other side and then give him your best cursed doll impression? You had made grown men shit their pants before with that.

Instead, you let the apple fall to the floor and pulled out of your pocket a single gold coin. Barbossa went completely still, as if he feared that the thing might disintegrate if he as much as breathed too hard.

“Why are you so interested in these things?”

“You don’t know? Strange in one who seems to be so willing to steal them from us”.

“I might just find it fun. You know, whoever steals from a thief gets a hundred years of reprieve”.

“So you are a pirate then”.

“Hard to believe, huh? With tits and no penis… Who would’ve thought!”

You were both at a standstill, swords out in delicate parts, until Barbossa finally sheathed his sword with a groan.

“Give me that coin and I’ll let you leave”.

Oh, _fuck_ him.

“Oh, you’ll _let_ me?”

You removed your sword but kept it at your side and picked up the apple, moving the coin between the interstices of your fingers. Barbossa followed your movements with his eyes and locked in on your lips as you bit the apple.

“Lovely. Thanks for the meal. I’ll be taking my leave”.

“Oh, I really don’t think so”.

He threw something at you, which you only realised too late was a book when all its pages became undone and blocked your view so you didn’t manage to duck in time when he threw himself at you, sword in hand. You took the blow head on and fell to the floor, biting the wooden boards, and managed to move out of the way just in time to avoid being impaled. Without losing a second you rolled and jumped back to your feet, your sword clashing with Barbossa’s. He looked impressed, and with good reason: you knew your fighting style was impeccable and your movements frankly badass.

You smirked and lunged. Your swords crossed, with equal force and skill. He was good, but not as good as you. You moved your feet too fast for him and found an opening; Barbossa was forced into a corner as you advanced on him and pinned him against the wall.

“Am I enough of a pirate for you now, captain?”, you asked, a wicked grin on your lips, close enough to him that you could see yourself reflected on his eyes. Barbossa punched upwards, trying to hit you with his blade, but you were quicker and headbutted him against the weird wooden carvings of the wall, and when he looked up again, feeling a trickle of blood oozing down his skull, you were gone.

He opened his mouth to sound the alarm but then he noticed something that glinted against the table, where the apple you had taken had been. He approached and picked up with long, bony fingers a single coin of Aztec gold. The skull laughed voicelessly at him.

The captain of the _Black Pearl_ smiled and tucked the coin into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second meeting! Fun was had :D   
> Comment if you're enjoying it and thanks for reading!!


	6. Probability is a matter of opinion

“Impossible!”

“Improbable, rather. If you had locked every single door in here and had men on every side of the ship, then maybe it would be impossible. As it stands, it’s just improbable. But if you ask _me_ , probability is a matter of opinion. Is it likely that I have many other better things to do than be here today? Yes. But have I chosen to come to visit your boat once more? Also yes”.

With this, you bit the green apple that you had taken from Barbossa’s centrepiece and looked him dead in the eye. He stood in the doorway, not quite believing his eyes.

He had taken the _Pearl_ to Basseterre, which was a bigger town that the ones they’d raided before and too French for your taste, so instead of staying to eat _pain perdu_ or one of those ridiculously overcomplicated yet insignificantly small cakes they liked to bake, you had quietly slipped again onto the _Pearl_ and into Barbossa’s cabin.

To be fair to him, he _had_ reinforced the lock on the cabin’s door. Awww, cute, you thought, as you smashed it and made your way inside. This time you went through the papers on his desk and the books on the shelves that were tucked away at the back of the cabin. Most of them were posh English literature in worn bindings, which meant that either he had read them all several times or that he had never even opened them and kept them only to make him look smart.

There were many maps, most of them marked with signs whose meaning you didn’t know, but in one of them you recognised the towns they had already sacked plus a few more. You memorised them, a good roadmap to the _Pearl_ ’s next movements, and moved the cushioned chair that hid behind a desk to the central mahogany table. You sat down, took an apple, crossed your feet on top of the table and comfortably waited for him to find you.

And find you he did.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting him to do – you had to admit he was rather unpredictable – but it certainly wasn’t closing the door behind him and just staring at you.

“Impossible”, he muttered again.

“Oh, do get past that. What, aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“I’m beginning to believe you’re nothing but a lucid dream of mine that comes to haunt me every time I make port”.

You took another bite from the apple, its juices dribbling down your chin. You cleaned them off with your sleeve.

“I like that description. Let’s stick to that”.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know”.

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it _exciting_?”

Barbossa cocked his head, as if he really had no idea what to make of you, and took a chair next to you. You smiled and offered him the half-eaten apple.

“Twice you’ve been here before and twice you’ve run away in a rather peculiar manner. You don’t seem interested in stealing anything other than what you already have or killing me. What _do_ you want? Who are you?”

“A better pirate than you, from the looks of it”.

“You know my name, I think it’s only fair that I should learn yours”.

He was close, closer than you had realised. He must have moved the chair at some point but you had barely noticed it. His question of what you were doing aboard the _Pearl_ a third time had really bothered you because you genuinely didn’t know what made you want to risk it every time they made port and you wanted to think about it even less, but he looked truly curious. Amused, even.

“Meridith Jones, at your service”.

“Okay then, Miss Jones, how many gold pieces do you still have left?”

“What makes you think I have any?”

“Just trying my luck”. He smiled and bit the apple, right next to where you had already taken a piece out of it. You couldn’t say he had a nice smile, with all those crooked teeth and golden pieces, but damn if it didn’t make something shudder in your gut. A playful wickedness that mirrored your own. That, _that_ was exactly why you kept wanting to board this goddamned ship.

“Tell me what your interest in them is and I’ll tell you how many more I’ve got”.

“Somehow that doesn’t sound like a very fair deal to me, not when I can just kill you and search you myself”.

You laughed, throwing your head back.

“Please, captain, don’t embarrass yourself. You’ve proven yourself unable to kill me twice already”.

“Ah, but don’t they say third time’s a charm?”

His hand went to the pommel of his sword, but you didn’t move. You weren’t scared and like hell would you let him think you were.

You got up in one fluid movement, making him start in his seat and grab his blade, you but simply walked towards the bookcases.

“Nice books you have. Ever read them before?”

“Are you a learned pirate, Miss Jones? I always thought they were a dying breed”.

“Ah, so they’re just decoration. How disappointing”.

“I do confess I have a soft spot for the Bard, but I prefer to spend my time reading other things”. Barbossa had gotten up too and strolled up to you. You had your back to him but could feel him approaching.

“Does that mean complex sailing charts or bawdy novels? Can’t make up my mind”.

His breath caressed the nape of your neck and you couldn’t help but shudder. You kept your back to him and felt his hand go up to your hair, playing with the loose ends that stuck out from below your hat. You sucked in a breath, feeling a deepening pressure in your chest as his hand strayed downwards, towards your hips.

“I could show you a few things I learnt from those books, Miss Jones…”

You turned your face towards him, smiled and caught his hand just as he tried to grab the bag of coins in your pocket.

“Dear me, how dishonourable. I believe I shall now storm off in anger”.

Barbossa unsheathed his blade in a fast movement but you had already lifted your elbow in anticipation and delivered a blow to his head that knocked him back, giving you a few seconds during which to leave a third coin neatly on top of the bookshelf. He delved back for you, sword at the ready, but you saw him coming and counter-parried his blow. Your swords met again, their glinting metals cracking against each other in the moonlight, but you slowly pulled back and managed to reach the door and yank it open.

The town was on fire, roaring buildings that slowly became undone, and for a moment the night wind blew the clouds away. Moonlight shone on the deck of the _Black Pearl_ and Hector Barbossa stared at you from the inside of the cabin. Nobody else was in sight and you taunted Barbossa.

“What, you’re too scared to stop me running off again?”

He didn’t move. He just stood there in the doorway, a queer sparkle in his eyes, looking at you. And for a split second there was nobody else in the world except you two, nothing else mattered, just you and Barbossa and that gaping space between you.

And then the yells of the returning pirates brought you back to reality and without thinking twice you jumped off the side of the ship, into the murky waters of Basseterre’s harbour.

Hours later, when you managed to swim ashore on some nearby island, you could feel a ghost pulse where your heart should have been beating. You clutched your hand to your chest, shivering, not from the cold but from the overload of feelings, and looked at the remaining doubloons which sat in the soaked little pouch from your pocket.

Three to go.

You put the coins back and stared at the sea.

In the distance, Basseterre burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments give me life!  
> I'm so glad you're liking my MC, Meridith loves you back!


	7. Cursed gold

“Do you have any idea what the fuck this is?”

Davy Jones turned towards you, his trusty pipe releasing spirals of ghostlike smoke. He was at the helm of the _Dutchman_ , making his way to the latest haul of the kraken, while the rest of the crew laboured around.

“Language”.

“Dad!”

“No, I haven’t the faintest idea. Doesn’t seem like a very trustworthy currency, though”. He walked with you, taking the coin between his tentacles. The gold shone while jumping from one to another. An eerie coin on an eerie ship. It almost made sense.

“You don’t say”, you facepalmed yourself and willed your feelings into calmness. “This is what Barbossa and the _Pearl_ are after, and I need to know what it is, but he won’t tell me”.

“He won’t tell you? It seems like you two are getting rather chummy”.

Being basically undead and therefore lacking any blood flowing through your veins, you managed to keep a perfect poker face without any colour rising to your cheeks, and thank the gods for that.

“Yes, dad, I’m getting ‘chummy’ with a man I’ve met twice only to steal his gold and send his ship back to the unspoken depths from where it should never have risen”.

Davy Jones raised an eyebrow with scepticism, a very characteristic gesture of his that you had tried to emulate for years rather unsuccessfully, but didn’t ask further.

“Come on”, you insisted, “you have travelled the Seven Seas, seen marvels beyond compare, met gods and faced death but have no idea whatsoever what this gold can be?”

“That gold is none of your business, nor mine. Find Sparrow and give him the spot. Time is running out and you’re idling away instead of doing your job”. He looked you straight in the eye and returned to the helm.

“Well you’re not doing your job either!”, you shouted, and he raised a tentacle which you roughly be the equivalent of giving you the finger for the supernaturally equipped. Anybody else would have been flogged for their audacity, but Jones had always been soft on you. You knew where and when you could cross the line with him and, as First Mate, had chosen a different approach for the crew: they thought highly of you and were almost your family, but you knew how to make them respect you when it came to it. They had sold their souls to a ghost ship ruled by a heartless man and had become monsters in the flesh, and yet you were the one being they feared the most because they couldn’t understand what you were. Not even you did, but you had made your peace with that.

“Bloody pirates”, you muttered under your breath, and found Maccus looking at you. “What? Have you lost again at liar’s dice?”

“Always, ya know I’m a piss-poor player”. He was. “I accidentally overheard ya conversation with the captain”.

“Accidentally?”

“You _were_ being very loud. Anyway, I thought ya might wanna ask Turner about it”.

You wrinkled your nose.

“Turner? The old man with the starfish on his face? What for?”

“What, I thought ya knew! He served in the _Pearl_ before the captain took ‘im in”.

You almost punched him in the face.

“ _There’s a pirate from the Pearl here and nobody bothered telling me???????_ ”, you yelled while shaking poor Maccus from his shoulders.

“It’s not like what you do for the captain is common knowledge for the rest of us! Bloody ‘ell, Beto, I only know it because I’m your friend!”

He did have a point. You let him go, heaving, and tried to clear your head. Other crewmembers were looking askew at the two of you, not quite sure whether you were fighting or having a long overdue and very passionate encounter.

You thanked Maccus and stalked off, looking for Turner. You didn’t know him that well, although you distinctly remember picking him up for the _Dutchman_ from a ridiculously deep part of the ocean. You were a kid back then and Jones hadn’t allowed you to see the procedure, and you could imagine why: at such depths, the human body became nothing but bloody mush. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t quite know how Turner managed to survive until you found him…

He was in the gun deck, drudging about under the leaking boards of the main deck, preparing the cannons in case they were needed against whatever the kraken had left of the ship you were going to retrieve, although you very much doubted it.

Bill Turner looked like a man old beyond his years, with droopy eyes and wilted hair, and a starfish stuck to his right cheek. He didn’t notice you at first but when he finally did he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Chief”, he saluted.

“At ease, Turner”, you smiled, all charm and politeness. “Would you mind if we have a chat?”

“The captain told me to…”

“I can handle the captain. It won’t take a minute”.

Rather reluctantly he sat down on one of the water-worn tables that lay around the lower decks. You pulled out a chair and sat down astride it, resting your chest on its back, and smacked one of the skeleton coins on the table. Turner bounced back, even paler than he was before.

“Get that thing away from me”.

“So you know what it is. I was told you served aboard the _Black Pearl_. I need to know everything you know about it… and its captain”.

“Why, chief? What do you want with the _Pearl_?”

“I’m tracking it. I need to find Jack Sparrow so he can settle his debt with the captain, but he’s disappeared, so I figured that if I followed the _Pearl_ I’d eventually find Sparrow. I wager he’ll want his ship back”.

“Aye, you’re right on that account. Jack loves him ship better that him own live. But the _Pearl_ is cursed, chief. Cursed for the blood on them hands, for them treachery and them own damned greed”.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Captain Jones found me at the bottom of the ocean? Who do you think tied a cannonball to my feet and send me to the depths?”

“Not Jack Sparrow, by any chance?”

“Jack was long gone by then, betrayed by his second in command, Barbossa, who took the _Pearl_ and marooned him in an island for wanting to share the gold equally. We took all the gold, all of it, like vultures, and spent it. But the gold was cursed, chief. Cursed, and we paid the price. We later learned that only if all the coins were returned would the damning be undone, but we didn’t deserve that. Nay, we didn’t, not after betraying Jack. So I sent one of them coins to my son. They found out and sentenced me to the Locker, crushed for all eternity under the pressure of the ocean floor. It was hell”.

It was a lot of information to take it. Your head swam (ironic, given the situation), but there was still something you didn’t understand.

“Okay, I get now why all this obsession with the coins, but what is the curse exactly? Why didn’t you drown when they threw you overboard? No offense, not that I would’ve wanted you to”.

Turner smiled, a sad smile that shook you to your core.

“They are spectres who crave to regain their humanity. The light of the moon shows them for what they truly are”.

“And what would that be?”

“The living dead”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, the reveal is so close I can smell it!  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you're enjoying it!


	8. Well, this is awkward

There was change in the air.

You wrinkled your nose and pouted. You had expected your next visit to the _Pearl_ to be different, not only because of the gold that remained in your pocket, but because now you possessed knowledge, and knowledge was power. You were very curious to find out what Turner had meant about the moonlight showing the crew as living dead, but there was something else taking up a very big chunk of your mind.

Barbossa had been the one to betray Jack Sparrow, leaving him marooned on an island while taking his ship and his map to the treasure and making your life considerably more difficult. He had then proceeded to spend all the stolen gold on wine and whores and sentenced to die a member of his crew for standing up to him. You hadn’t expected him to be _nice_ , exactly, but it was one thing to be a charming scoundrel and another to be plain… evil. It bothered you to think of him as evil.

You hadn’t told the Captain what Turner had told you. You hadn’t told Maccus. You had just left the ship and slowly made your way through the rest of the towns marked in red in Barbossa’s map, expecting to eventually find the _Pearl_.

But you didn’t.

No town had seen or suffered the _Pearl_ for weeks. There wasn’t the slightest rumour of it. As if it had just ceased to exist.

So after a week of moping around, you decided that if you couldn’t go to the ship, you’d make the ship come to you.

You chose a small enclave, unmarked in the map, and settled in a rather cosy looking inn, not the usual shabby hangouts where you usually stayed. No, this time you paid handsomely for a big room, with a tub and a proper bed and a table where you very studiously arranged an apple centrepiece, and then spent the rest of the week visiting all the taverns in town and in the neighbouring villages, spreading the rumour of an enigmatic pirate with an exotic deposit of gold that had taken up residence in the little island. True, you had to fight off more than one attempted robbery during the next few nights and bribe the innkeeper so that they allowed you to stay despite the racket, but soon word had spread.

He didn’t make you wait long.

A single boom made you spring from the tacky chaise longue you had been reading on, excitement running through your body, pulsing with the rhythm of the cannons. You knew those guns.

You ran to the small balcony adjacent to your room, and there it was. The _Pearl_ made a bombastic entrance into the port, which wasn’t big and certainly wasn’t prepared to withstand a pirate attack from a vessel like the _Pearl_. Fire sprung up and the screaming began.

Calmly, you retraced your steps and made sure everything in the room was in order. You double checked your appearance in the mirror: knee-high leather boots, worn trousers and a loose white shirt, covered with a tight waistcoat, and your unfaltering hat, wide-brimmed with four scarlet feathers that somehow managed to survive every dip in the sea whenever you returned to the _Dutchman_. Your hair, cut to the height of your jaw, still showed under the hat. The only jewellery you bothered to wear were the twin earrings that Davy Jones had gifted you when you ascended to First Mate: he had carved them himself out of red coral.

Good enough for a pirate.

No pack of pirates came rushing to the door of the inn, kicking it down and killing everybody inside for the gold. Instead, a single figure emerged from the mist and strolled up to the door as if he had all the time in the world. The two pheasant feathers from his hat trembled with the wind.

As per your command, the door to the inn had been left unlocked and the staff had run away, warned beforehand of the imminent pirate attack on the town, so you knew it was a matter of time before he found you. You poured yourself a glass of wine and waited stretched out on the chaise longue. The knock came a heartbeat later.

“I’m glad to find you so comfortable in the middle of a pirate attack”, he grinned, leaning cross-armed against the doorframe. You raised your glass and smiled back.

“Care for some wine, Captain?”

The silence weighed heavily on you as he closed the distance between you, gently lifting the glass from your hand. Your fingers touched, just briefly, but it was enough to make you fully aware of your whole body and the closeness of his. He looked at you, piercing your soul with those damned eyes of his, and drank from exactly the same spot your lips had touched just an instant before.

Oh, so he wanted to play. You’d play, then.

“I’d hate to think you’re leading me around, Miss Jones”.

“And still you’ve heeded my call, Captain Barbossa. Interesting. Maybe deep down you _want_ to be led around?”

“I’ve come for the gold”.

“Ah, is that what they’re calling it now? So much new slang I have to learn…”

Barbossa sat next to you on the chaise longue, near your feet, and your eyes fixed on his free hand. He was so close to you, so damn close, and still he played dumb. You lifted yourself up and snatched the glass back, emptying it in one go. He chuckled, amused, and then turned towards the table.

“Apples. I can’t say I’m surprised”.

“I knew you’d like them”.

“Oh? You seem to know a lot of things about me”.

You smiled and bit your lip, getting dangerously close to him.

“If you only knew, Captain”.

Barbossa leaned into you, his warm breath on your skin, and your felt your gut twist in excitement. Was this what you wanted, what you had to prevent yourself from thinking about so badly? Was it the wine that was making you feel like this? Or was it the intimacy, the inexistent distance between you and this man that had caught your attention from the get-go?

His fingers slowly moved up your thighs, now sitting astride the couch, and you placed your hands on his chest. Under the leather strap that crossed his torso he wore a beautifully embroidered waistcoat whose pattern you traced with your fingertips as he trailed the shape of your hips. He had a strong, powerful chest, and you would probably have lost yourself in it if he hadn’t lacked one teeny tiny thing that brought you back to reality: a heartbeat.

“Oh, dammit”, you muttered under your breath, and, pulling him by the vest, threw him onto the floor. He had been expecting anything but that and, completely taken by surprise, rolled with you all over the carpet, grunting and struggling, but you had the upper hand and managed to keep him in place.

“You bitch!”, he yelled, and you smiled back at him.

“You know how to charm the ladies, Captain”.

He lunged at you, pinning you under his body, but you imitated the motion and pushed him towards the open window, overlooking the harbour, and pinned him to the floor again as you straddled him. You leaned down, the knowledge of him being powerless and at your mercy making you feel like a queen, and brought your face to his. He was angry, fuming, but at the same time something else shone within his eyes.

“Third time’s a charm, huh?”. Your lips almost brushed his and you could feel his breathing under you.

The clouds parted from the sky and the moonlight flooded the room, and Hector Barbossa’s flesh melted away until you were looking at a half-rotted skeleton.

Every thought flew from your mind.

“Surprise!”, he yelled and rammed his head against yours, throwing you off your balance and onto the floor, and once he had his hands free he drew a knife from his sash.

“Pity, I was beginning to like you”, he said, and plunged the knife into your neck.

You both stared at each other back and forth, you at his skeletal form, almost translucent under the moonlight, and him at the blade that protruded from your throat without drawing blood and, apparently, not bothering you in the slightest.

“Well”, you managed to say, air whistling out of your punctured trachea, “this is awkward”.


	9. Manners!

“What on _earth_ are you!?”

“Says the talking skeleton!”

Your voice was strained and wheezing, not in the least because of the sharp piece of metal that had just barely missed your vocal cords, but Barbossa seemed to be too shocked to react. At least you interpreted it as shock. It was hard to read feelings in a face which was basically bone with some flecks of rotten flesh.

Without much ceremony, you pushed him off you and retreated towards the wall, one hand resting on the knife’s pommel. The bastard had thrust it all the way through and it was stuck. Cursing, you took the pommel with both hands and pulled with all your might while he stared in disbelief. With a wet snap, the knife became loose and you pulled it out of your neck. Still no blood. It would leave a scar, to be sure, but it was nothing you hadn’t suffered before.

“What on earth…”

You looked at Barbossa and sat, one leg propped up against your chest and the other bent against the floor. The clouds covered again the moon and its brilliance washed away, together with the phantasmagorical look of the captain of the _Black Pearl_.

“Two undead, what are the chances?”, you smiled, gently bumping the knife against your palm.

“Are you cursed?”

“That’s a bit rude, coming from somebody whose knife was just inside me”. You licked your lips. “Where are your manners, Captain?”

Barbossa stared at you, completely at a loss for words, until he finally got up and massaged his brow.

“I think I’m gonna be needing some more wine”.

You rubbed your neck while Barbossa poured himself a glass of wine. Luckily for you two, the inn had quite an array of dinnerware, since you had smashed the first glass on the floor during your prior scuffle. Barbossa took a glass, hesitated, then picked a second one for you.

Your throat ached slightly and you knew that the wound would take several days to heal and scar over. Your condition was practical enough that you didn’t feel pain, or at least not as much as you should’ve, or you’d be screaming your lungs out on the floor. No, what for other people would’ve been mortal wounds, for you were mere annoyances, which itched and were sore for a few days before fading away and leaving nothing but a patchwork of scars on your skin. At least you had the decency to throw a scarf round your neck to hide the rather nasty wound Barbossa had given you.

He had sat down at the table and was now looking at you. He stretched out his hand for his glass of wine but reconsidered and went directly for the bottle.

“So you’re not cursed”.

“I think not”.

“But you can’t die”.

“Nope. Well, I suppose if you were to blow me into little pieces there wouldn’t be much for me to do afterwards”.

“But you’re human?”

“As far as I know”.

“How is it possible?”. He gesticulated, clearly unnerved by how the situation had overwhelmed him. “So you can breathe and eat and heal but you don’t have blood or a pulse? How is it even possible?”

“I don’t know, mate!”. You threw your hands into the air in exasperation. “I didn’t exactly come with a parchment with instructions, you know. I just… make do with what I am. Magic, I suppose. I don’t get to decide”.

“So it has no relation to the gold? Whatsoever?”

“Captain Barbossa, I’ve been like _this_ for way longer than I’ve known of this gold’s existence. Your “curse” is a trifling matter in comparison to _my_ inability to die and to _your_ ability to get on my nerves”.

“How interesting…”. Realising that that was going to be the only explanation he was getting, he leaned back and savoured the wine. Outside the attack had ceased and all was calm. Supernaturally calm. As if the whole town was waiting for the two undead pirates to finish having their leisurely chat. “If you didn’t want the gold, why were you coming after us?”

Glad that the conversation had steered away from you, as in no way in the seven hells were you going to reveal that you were Davy Jones’ daughter, you stretched out in the chaise longue.

“I’m trying to find someone”.

“And…”

“And?”

“Are you going to tell me who?”

“Nah”, you looked at your wine glass with a bored expression. “I don’t think I am. But. I have a deal for you that can be potentially beneficial for the both of us”.

“I’m listening”.

“Let me travel with you, which for reasons I will not disclose will surely mean that at some point I’ll find this person I’m looking for, and I’ll help you find these gold pieces”.

Barbossa spun the wine in the glass, considering your proposal.

“I don’t need to travel _with_ you lot, I just need to know that you won’t try to slit my throat or slam me against your cabin’s floor every time I get on board”. Not that you were totally against that, mind you.

“You seem determined to get on board, no matter what I might have to say on the subject, so... Hmm… Your… ‘abilities’ might very well come in handy. And you fight well, I’ll give you that”.

“Ugh, ‘well’ he says when I’ve kicked his ass three times. Men! So? Do we have a deal?”

You didn’t bother stretching out your hand for him to shake it. Pirates didn’t rely on such civilised manners. One was only worth as much as one’s word, and sometimes not even that. You knew that Barbossa wasn’t to be trusted and that he’d probably stab you in the back as soon as he’d have the chance. But then again, he probably thought that of you too.

Barbossa smiled a crooked smile and raised his glass.

“Agreed”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a horrible week so this fic is such a great way to lift my spirits, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I do! :) It's a short chapter but the fun part starts now!


	10. Welcome to the crew

“What a quaint little boat you have here!”

You stalked aboard the _Pearl_ , three gold pieces in a chain dangling from your hand. The banker who had acquired them by rather opaque means in the first place had decided to style them into jewellery rather than exchange them for their actual worth, so they hadn’t been hard to trace. You had already broken into the man’s house, raised a racket, frightened his wife and son and threatened him so badly that he’d meekly accepted to give you the gold by the time the _Pearl_ arrived at the port of Providence Island. You were waiting for it at the docks, grinning, and as soon as the cannon fire was over the walkways went down and pirates swarmed the place, but you walked in the opposite direction and boarded the _Pearl_ followed by the astonished looks of the crew, who slowly aborted their race towards the town and stopped to look at you.

“Hey, I know you!”, you pointed towards a stout pirate with terrible teeth. You were pretty sure he was the one whose brains you had poked with your knife. “Have I killed you before?”

“Get her! Get her before she goes babbling about fucking parlay again!”, bellowed the Bo’sun, but you were too quick and nimble and escaped their grasp.

“Ah ah”, you flickered your index finger in a negative gesture, “look, don’t touch”.

“So you did come, after all”.

Every pirate on board stopped at the sound of the voice that came from the quarterdeck and you turned to look at Hector Barbossa. Oh, how he relished having the higher ground. You could see it in his eyes.

You lifted the Aztec gold you were holding so that it glittered with the scattered beams of moonlight that the clouds let escape as they parted. This time he wasn’t surprised. To the contrary, he seemed rather pleased.

“I keep my promises, Captain. I hope you keep yours”.

Barbossa descended, slowly, as if he were an English gentleman strolling around his country villa. There was an undeniable air of gentility around him, but it was quickly spoiled by his roguish demeanour. Which only made you more excited.

“Very well. Welcome to the _Pearl_ , Miss Jones”.

“But Captain!”, the Bo’sun protested.

“She’s my guest and will be staying with us for a while, until we make port again. Unless she’d rather throw herself overboard, as she’s prone to do”, he said, turning to you with a mocking tone.

“Why, do you have such a horrible company that I’d want to do that?”. You advanced through the crowd, winking at the grimacing Bo’sun as you passed him, and let yourself into the captain’s cabin. It was exactly the same as you’d found it last time, perhaps a little bit more organised. Barbossa entered after you.

“You invited me to dinner last time, how about I return the favour?”

“An apple and two glasses of wine followed by some backstabbing can hardly be described as ‘dinner’, but I’ll accept. I don’t suppose you have many visitWHATTHEFUCK!”

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

A small form jumped at your face from the shadows and your heart nearly reanimated from the shock. You bounced back and bumped your hip against the table, which trembled from the impact. Cursing, you hopped around, holding your sore thigh while Barbossa chuckled and stretched out his arm, and your tiny attacker swiftly landed on his shoulder.

“There, Jack. Who’s a good boy?”.

“A _monkey_?”. You were still reeling from the fright and opened your eyes in shock at seeing Barbossa lovingly scratch the little truant’s chin. “Is it your pet or something?”

“Name’s Jack. He’s also part of the crew”.

The chimp smiled a smile with too many teeth. You were slightly reminded of the kraken, only smaller.

“If he jumps on me like that again I’ll kill it”.

“I’d rather you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you. But I don’t think you can, anyway”.

You looked at Barbossa inquisitively and then saw the monkey play around with a gold piece and understood.

“The monkey is also cursed? Amazing”.

The door opened as you poked Jack and two men came in, carrying trays of food. One of them was tall and lean, with parched straw-like hair and a wooden eye, and the other one was short and stout, balding, and looked like he could take a bite out of you if you annoyed him.

“Cap’n, what you asked for…”, the shorter one said. Barbossa nodded towards the table and the two men proceeded to fill it with roast chicken, cheese, grapes, gravy, bread… You had never seen that much food together in your life. And oh gods, the smell. It smelled _so_ good. Where had they got all this? You looked suspiciously at the chicken and then at Barbossa.

“This is chicken, right? As in, actual chicken?”

“What else would it be?”

You shrugged.

“You’d be surprised about the things I’ve seen and eaten out there”.

“I can’t wait to hear about that”, he replied, doing a little bow and leading you towards the table.

You took a chair and dove in. It was indeed chicken and it tasted like heaven. You hadn’t expected to get a free dinner, but who were you to complain? Your meals at the _Dutchman_ had been meagre at best and definitely not as good looking as this one – you didn’t really need to eat but you did it for the simple pleasure it brought you. Barbossa took a chair and sat next to you, looking at you intently.

“Aren’t you gonna have anything?”, you asked, carelessly wiping your mouth with the tablecloth. Barbossa shook his head.

“No”.

“No? Aren’t you tempted by this delicious chicken or by the cheese?”

“Sorely tempted, Miss Jones, but there is nothing in this food for me”.

“Is it related to the curse?”

Barbossa chuckled again but didn’t break eye contact with you.

“You’re quick on the uptake. I suppose you have seen the worst of it: what the moonlight does to our bodies. But it is nothing but the reflection of our rotten souls. The gold’s curse lays bare how we were consumed by our greed, and now… the drink doesn’t satisfy, food turns to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world cannot slake our lust. We are cursed men, Miss Jones”.

His last words hung in the air between you like a heavy mist. You couldn’t begin to imagine what that was like. You might be undead, in a way, but you could feel. You had feelings, cravings, a heart in the metaphorical sense, if not the physical. Hector Barbossa and his crew, however… Turner wanted them punished, and punished they had been.

“How do you fix that?”, you asked, finally, taking a sip of your wine. Barbossa sat back on his seat, deep in thought. He had lost the smugness that characterised him, and for the first time you saw clearly the cursed, hopeless man that he was.

“Every single of them gold coins must be restored, all eight hundred and eighty-two, and the blood repaid”.

“What blood?”

Barbossa whipped his head towards you, as if suddenly aware that you were in the room with him, and evaded the question. You knew what, or actually whose, blood was to be repaid. Poor Turner with the starfish stuck on his face came to mind. How exactly they were gonna get his blood was a good question, but you stayed silent. Barbossa clearly didn’t want to broach the subject with you.

“We still have around half of the coins to retrieve, so it ain’t gonna be an easy ride”.

You sat back on the chair, unceremoniously finishing off your wine. Barbossa looked at you not without some expectation, as if wondering what effect his words would have on you. But you were not one to be easily scared off.

You were going nowhere.

“Don’t worry, Captain. I have all the time in the world”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been rather short, so I'll be posting soon the next one with some more action, I promise! Thanks for your patience and I hope you're enjoying it! :)


	11. Nothing a gal can't do

“So you’ve told her? And she’s going to stay!?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Aye, Cap’n, we have many. Bad luck, having a woman aboard”.

You looked at your nails with a bored expression while the crew bickered. Barbossa’s word was final: if he said you were staying, that was it, but it didn’t mean the men wouldn’t complain about it. Even in their skeletal forms, you could sense their vexation.

“I think it’d be much worse not to have her, Mr. Pintel, so deal with it or shut your mouth”.

The ship started sailing out of the port towards their next destination, on its tireless search for the Aztec gold, but the pirates grumbled about while shooting glances at you. They probably thought you were the captain’s latest catch, which was something you weren’t really comfortable with. You weren’t _anybody’s_ woman.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Pintel”, you intervened, addressing the stout balding man who had brought the dinner in earlier that night. “I won’t be sullying your ship with my female presence, I’ll probably be coming and going while helping you find your thrice-cursed gold. Happy?”

“It’s even worse luck if she comes and goes as if this were an inn”, Pintel grumbled under his breath and left. His companion, the tall ragged fellow, followed him after staring at you for a while longer.

“They don’t like me”, you complained to Barbossa after joining him in the quarterdeck. You pouted in a childlike manner and he chuckled darkly.

“Can you blame them, Miss Jones?”

“Why, I’m a lovely person with a fabulous personality. Why would they want to miss out on that?”

You were curious about the crew of the _Black Pearl_ , the men who had betrayed Jack Sparrow and sentenced Bill Turner to an eternity of crushing pressure at the depths of the ocean. Leaving Barbossa to the helm, you strolled around the deck, looking curiously at every tiny detail. The _Pearl_ was rather similar to the _Dutchman_ , although better maintained, except for the ripped sails, which you rather supposed were unavoidable when one suffered from an ancient curse.

Bo’sun, his enormous frame replicated in his now exposed bones, barked orders at the crew and the men scuttled about. They knew you had been aboard thrice and escaped with your life every single time and now had a queer relationship with their captain, and weren’t scared of them, so instead of jeering at you like they’d done before, they just got out of your way, inspecting you when they thought you didn’t notice.

Towards the prow, you found the raggedy pirate with the wooden eye struggling with one of the cannons. The pirates were cleaning them and hoisting them up to take them belowdecks, but the man seemed to be having some trouble with the knots. His straw-like hair, which was surprisingly intact as a skeleton, shook with the tugs he was giving the ropes.

“Need help?”

He jumped at your voice coming from behind him and turned to find you looking at him with an interested expression.

“No thanks, I’m fine”, he mumbled. His fingers twitched. You studied the knot.

“That’s not really gonna work for a cannon of that size, is it? As soon as you make the knot _there_ and pull it’ll come off. Have you tried a looped four?”

The man stared at you in disbelief and you smiled back, holding out your hand.

“I’m Beto, by the way”.

“Ragetti”, he answered, not shaking your hand. “You seem to know a lot about nautical knots, Miss Beto”.

“Oh please, drop the miss. I’m no lady. And yes, I do know a lot about knots”, you replied, thinking about the time Palifico had messed up the knots on the cannons and dropped one on the _Dutchman’s_ deck, earning one hell of a whipping from Clanker. You’d made a mental note never to make a mistake like that.

“’ave you sailed much before?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I have. I’ve spent all my life aboard a ship, so I know pretty well how things work. And I know that knot won’t hold”.

Ragetti looked at his poor attempt at securing the cannon and swallowed.

“I’m not very good at this… Hard to, with one eye”.

“Hm. Okay, let me”.

You crouched down and started working at the ropes when Pintel barged in, looking outraged at your takeover of Ragetti’s work.

“What are you doing, you idiot!? It’s bad luck to…”

“But she’s helping me!”

“You’re a _pirate_ , you need no help from no lass!”, he retorted, and then his jaw fell slack as you finished tying the cannon and hoisted up by yourself, your muscles swelling in your arms and abdomen, and without much hassle slowly lowered it into the gun hold. The whole crew went silent and stared at you, as if you were the one who had come out of a ghost story.

“What?”, you shrugged, letting go of the rope. “Like it’s hard”.

Someone somewhere started clapping and soon the pirates around you joined in, some of them whistling in amazement, and you knew you had taken a right first step in ensuring that these men wouldn’t slit your throat while you slept.

“How did you do that??”

Ragetti came to you with eyes sparkling like a small child and a grumbling yet equally impressed Pintel in tow. The accurate answer would be “since I’m undead my body answers to different body standards and I’ve learn how to take it to the limit without breaking it so lifting a cannon on my own isn’t such a difficult thing to do”, but it was too convoluted to explain and they didn’t need know so much about you, so you just replied:

“Training! Keep practicing and someday you’ll be able to do it too!”, and patted him in the back. From the helm, Barbossa looked at you and laughed.


	12. Liar's Dice

The crew gazed at you intently as you returned the look with a grin and slammed two dice boxes on the small table in front of you, one third box rattling with the impact. Ragetti and Pintel exchanged nervous glances until somebody spoke.

“I’m in”, said a dreadlocked fellow with a Jamaican accent.

“Me too”, pitched in another, bald and scarred.

“Perfect! Three players, ideal. So you’ve all played liar’s dice before?”

“A pirates’ game”, said the Jamaican pirate with a solemn tone. “We know it. The question is, what will the stakes be?”

The rest of the crew crowded around the table in the lower deck, some of them even leaning in from the hatch. The sun shone high on the horizon and everybody was sweaty and thrumming with excitement, so the stench around you was peculiar to say the least, but you too were stoked. You didn’t fail to notice Barbossa appearing above the hatch, not missing a beat of your performance.

“Information”, you said, your eyes still on the captain. “I win, you answer one question of mine. You win, I answer one question of yours. Agreed?”

The two men sitting across from you grinned and nodded.

“Let’s begin then”.

Three dice boxes thumped against the table and you lifted yours, discreetly. You had two sixes, two fours and one one. Could be worse.

“Three fours”, you began.

“Four fives”, said the Jamaican.

“Six twos”, said the bald one, after a little hesitation.

You looked around the table, sensing the air. You took your chances.

“Ten sixes”.

“Liar!”, yelled the Jamaican, and you three uncovered your dice. Ten sixes there were, fair and square. The men moaned and screeched in laughter.

“Hah! My win, mister…”

“Koehler”, he spat.

“Tell me, Koehler, how do you track the coins? I’ve noticed you barely investigate yet always know where to go to retrieve them”.

“The gold calls to us. The curse has linked us with those coins. We just know”.

“Ah. So that’s how you found me. If I had known, I’d could’ve spared myself from all that socialising and just waited for you in the comfort of my bed. Next round!”

This time you didn’t have a good hand. You clicked your tongue. Koehler started.

“Six twos”.

“Eight fours”.

“Twelve sixes”.

“I call bullshit!”, Koehler jumped again, and bullshit it was. This time it was your turn to share. You could feel Barbossa listening intently on the other side of the hatch.

“How did you manage to escape from us all those times without us being able to find you? How could you possibly raise that cannon by yourself?”

“Unless I have suddenly lost my ability to count, that’s two questions, Koehler, and the rules said one. But I’ll be generous and answer the two. You see”, you leaned into him and whispered in a confidential tone; the whole crew leaned into the little table, like a tortoise hunched over itself, “a unicorn once came flying to me and granted be beauty beyond compare, wits and a mermaid’s tail in exchange for any shame or respectability I could’ve ever had. Amazing, yes?”

Koehler slammed his fist against the table, his dark skin turning red.

“You fucking liar! That’s obviously a lie!”

“Ah, but you didn’t specify that I had to answer _truthfully_ ”, you answered with a shit-eating grin.

“Spoken like a true pirate”, said Pintel, who seemed to have come to like you.

“This is bullshit”, said Koehler as he stormed off the table. You looked at the other pale fellow and shrugged.

“Anybody else wants to join us?”

Nobody spoke until a commanding voice broke the silence.

“I will”, said Barbossa, and descended the stairs of the hatch to sit next to you. The crew parted to let him through and a nervous silence spread throughout the men, who looked askance at each other.

You stared at Barbossa’s blue eyes, accepting the challenge in them. Would you answer truthfully to whatever he asked you? Would he? And what _would_ you ask him?

You hand trembled imperceptibly as you took your dice box, but you noticed it and willed yourself steady. The boxes fell.

“Four fours”, the bald pirate began.

“Five sixes”. Barbossa didn’t break eye contact with you.

“Fifteen sixes”.

Everybody stared at you in disbelief. It was impossible, it was too risky a bet. You knew it and didn’t know if you were more looking forward to win or to lose. Barbossa held in a breath.

“I fear I’m gonna have to call you a liar, Miss Jones”.

But as you three unveiled your dice, everybody gasped in unison. Fifteen sixes, ninety tiny dark dots staring at you from the table. Barbossa looked up at you, eyes wide in amazement.

“Impossible”.

“Improbable, rather. Yet here we are. Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

You crossed your arms, smugly, and tasted the question on your tongue.

“So, Captain Barbossa. Whose blood do you need to repay to break the curse?”

Barbossa stalled, turning over the dice in his hand, and then exploded, yelling at his men.

“What are ye looking at, you scurvy-ridden loafers? Get ye back to work! Now!”

The men scurried away, running each other over, until only you and Barbossa remained. He got up and walked to you.

“Bill Turner’s”.

And with that he left for the main deck. But you never were one to let things lie, even if you already knew the information he was withholding. No, you wanted to know _why_ he was withholding it.

“Who’s Bill Turner?”, you asked innocently, going after him. He looked sideways at you and finally deigned to answer.

“A man too righteous for his own good”, he spat. “He was a member of the crew when we found the gold, and he spent it just as well as the rest of us did, that he did, but then he decided he was better than the lot of us and sent one last piece to his family, to spite us, to leave us cursed forever. So he received exemplary punishment and was sent to Davy Jones’ Locker”.

He wasn’t, you thought, but that was beside the point. Barbossa was eyeing you tensely, as if expecting a reaction from you.

“We found out too late that his death only aggravated the curse. Only by his blood will the curse be undone, and he’s down there being eaten by fish. But we’ll find that one missing piece of gold, that we will, and that family of his and help them reunite in the Locker. And then we’ll be free”.

That last word, ‘free’ echoed in the air between us. You could see how much he craved that freedom, regaining his humanity, and you felt you couldn’t judge him. Turner had made his choice; so had Barbossa. When you lived as a pirate, you knew what such choices entailed. Wasn’t that part of what made life exciting?

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

You leaned against the bannister and crossed your arms. Despite the heat from the summer sun, there was a breeze that tenderly rocked the ship’s sails and that shook your short hair around. Barbossa advanced towards you, placing one hand on the wooden railing by your side. He was close enough that you could smell him, sea salt and sun and blood from one hundred battles. For once, he looked at the waves and avoided your eyes.

“I suppose it weren’t the best possible introduction, a mutiny and an execution”.

“What if I told you I knew already?”

He jerked his head towards you.

“You knew?”

“I might’ve”.

“And how did ye learn about that?”

“You’ll need to win a round of liar’s dice against me to get me to answer that, Captain”.

A smile tugged at Barbossa’s lips.

“You don’t seem to mind, either the curse or this”.

“I don’t”.

The lull of the waves crashing against the ship filled the silence between the two of you, and you could almost feel a pull towards the Pearl’s captain.

“You’re a strange one, Meridith Jones”.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”, you smiled, and suddenly he stretched out this hand to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. The contact of his fingers against your skin brought your stomach to your throat.

“I have something for you”, he said, and pulled out of his pocket one of the Aztec coins.

“Oh”. You couldn’t help feel somewhat disappointed. “Thank you, but I’m good with a single curse. I feel two would be rather excessive”.

“Don’t be stupid”, he cussed, “you’re not gonna be cursed. You didn’t steal this”.

“Actually I did. From you”, and then you noticed the coin was attached to a thin golden chain. “Is that…?”

“A pendant of sorts. For you”.

You stared at him and then at the coin.

“What makes you think I won’t disappear with it into the sunset and leave you cursed forever, like Turner?”

He shrugged.

“I’ll take my chances”.

Your turned around and let him fasten the necklace. You could feel his fingers at work behind you and the metal leaned against your skin, cold and foreign. You touched it, feeling its dents and decorations. Barbossa moved his mouth to your ear.

“This way we’ll always be able to find each other”.


	13. A pirate's mind

“Cap’n, we found ten more!”

“Good. Put ‘em with the rest”.

While the men drudged around the deck, Barbossa made a quick calculation. With these ten new coins, their efforts were nearing completion. Not many to go. Just a few more towns to visit and after that Turner’s lost coin. And then…

But there was one more coin out there, one he had parted with willingly.

He could feel you somewhere in the distance. He knew that you were probably thousands of miles away, on the other side of the earth, engrossed in whatever mysterious mission you had, but you _were_ there. Like a little point of pressure at the back of his mind, of his soul. The coin bound you together.

He had kept silent about the coin he had gifted you for months; it was none of the men’s business and they probably wouldn’t take well that he had risked their immortal souls on a whim. He had seen how their loyalty had worked for Jack Sparrow and would rather not taste his own medicine. Somehow, he trusted that you would return the coin when the time came. You had nothing to gain from keeping them cursed and had even helped them find most of the others… but then again, you were a pirate and had proven yourself to be as twisted and remorseless as the worst of them. He had seen how the gold shone in your eyes when he had taken you to Isla de Muerta and shown you the massive Aztec chest. Perhaps you would actually keep the coin, just out of malice, and drive them to follow you through the seven seas in a supernatural game of cat and mouse.

It was the gamble that thrilled him.

“Cap’n, route?”

The bones of the skeletal forms of the crew glistened in the moonlight, waiting for their captain’s orders. Barbossa took a look at his compass and signalled with his head, one hand still gripping the helm. They could all feel the pull of the coins, yours one amongst many, but they still needed direction.

“North! With the wind while we have it”.

Sails unfurled, captain at the helm, the _Black Pearl_ started on its new course, leaving behind a burning city. Pintel and Ragetti ran to tend to the cannons, expertly tying the knots as you had shown them. Unlike when you were aboard, they did need four or more men to hoist one of the guns up.

He half expected to find you behind him whenever he turned around in the quarterdeck, but of course you weren’t. A week ago you had mentioned something about a lead in Singapore and had left as soon they had touched land, and the ship seemed weirdly empty without you. No snarky comments, no sneaking around, no sound of your brazen laugh when you beat the hell out of Koehler at liar’s dice. The poor bastard hadn’t managed to win a single game yet. Without you the Pearl was… boring. Like it was before you arrived.

Barbossa started, astounded at his own thoughts.

What, was he at that stage already? Thinking about a time _before_ you and _after_ you? When had he become a blushing maiden? For shame.

He gripped the helm with enough strength that his knucklebones creaked.

Yes, he liked the gamble that you represented. He didn’t understand you, what you were or what you were thinking, as much as he had tried, and that was perhaps what had attracted him to you in the first place. He had wanted to strangle you the first few times, true, but after he’d learnt about your… “situation” and after he’d come to know your cheekiness and boldness, he just felt that he wanted to know _more_.

Downstairs, Pintel and Ragetti struggled with the cannon, their bones chiming against one another as they collided while holding the ropes. A few crewmembers gathered round, laughing.

It was a fleeting fancy, to be sure. Indeed, what man, living or undead, could resist the allure of a woman like you? You were easy on the eyes and you had a bigger-than-life personality that could only seduce. He, on the other hand, was not a kind man; he was greedy and forceful and had never shied away from claiming a prize that he thought he deserved. He had gotten the gold, he had gotten the Pearl and he _would_ get his life back. Why would you be any different?

A gust of wind shifted the clouds around and the men reverted to their human appearance without the moonlight to enchant them. Barbossa remembered your face when you had first seen him in his skeletal form, just before he non-fatally stabbed you in the neck, and couldn’t hold back a smirk. That had been months ago now, months during which you had made yourself at ease aboard the _Pearl_ and almost made it a habit to have dinner with him once a week in his cabin.

Dinner, nothing else.

There was a certain tension between you, that couldn’t be denied, and he was aware that most of the crew assumed you were involved, but Barbossa never knew how to read the room with you. You were frank and foul-mouthed and had great wit, making for great banter, but every time he inquired after your life or origins you clammed up and redirected the conversation as you saw fit. He only knew that you had been born at sea and grown up on a ship, with a crew that you considered your family but with whom you had parted ways, although you still frequently visited them. You were lying, clearly, but he hadn’t managed to clock what exactly about your story was a lie. You certainly knew enough about ships and piracy to at least make that part true.

He couldn’t blame you for not trusting him. Hell, it probably was the smartest thing you’d done. Don’t show weakness. Don’t form attachments. It was all temporary anyway. Once the gold was gathered and you found your mysterious target, your relationship would be over. No more excuses for you to meet.

That would be it…

“Captain…”

Pintel’s scruffy voice shook Barbossa away from his thoughts. The stout little man and his slender companion were looking at him with fidgeting hands, like nervous puppies. Barbossa rolled his eyes.

“What”.

“We were just wondering, Captain…”

“D’you know when Beto will be returning?”

Barbossa grunted. He didn’t like that you had allowed these two nobodies to use a pet name with you and not him. Somehow it felt… unfair.

“No, I have no idea. I’m not her nanny”.

“But she’ll be back, right?”, asked Ragetti anxiously.

“Don’t you have anything else of use to do?”, the captain barked, and the menacing presence of the Bo’sun approaching from behind was enough to make the two scuttle away with a whimper. Barbossa sighed and rested his chin upon the helm, fixing his eyes on the waves, Jack the monkey discreetly jumping on his shoulder. He knew the sea, he could predict the sea.

He couldn’t predict you.

And he never could’ve predicted what he was beginning to feel.

“She’ll be back”, he whispered to himself. “She’ll be back”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Barbossa-POV chapter! Exciting!  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am! Your comments give me life :)


	14. Daddy's little girl

Singapore was a crumbling city built on foul water which stank of fish and of decaying wood. It felt like home.

Your Chinese was feeble at best, but you found that the people who could point you in the direction of the information you needed spoke mainly Malay, if only to spite the iron rule of Sao Feng. You knew the Pirate Lord from sight only and preferred to leave it at that; he didn’t look like a particularly friendly fellow, and you had heard what he did to spies and rivals. You weren’t keen on parting with your face by means of a pointed sledgehammer: would it grow back? Would it hurt? Better to never find out!

The canals were noisy, barges creeping slowly under them, music coming from itinerant stalls and people loudly announcing their wares. You eyed two sets of earrings, engraved with amethysts, and immediately pocketed them for Pintel and Ragetti. You had come to like the pair in the months you had been sailing with the _Pearl_ on and off; after your stunt with the cannon and the dice, the two had been in awe of you and you had befriended them. Pintel could be a bit weird at times, but Ragetti was a sweet soul, if you didn’t mind too much the pirating and thieving, of course. They’d like the earrings; they were barely allowed to keep anything from the booty they had in Isla de Muerta so this would be a welcome gift.

The Aztec coin gently bobbed against your chest as you moved. Perhaps it was because you too were cursed in a way, but with time its weight had become almost comforting. Just as you knew that the _Dutchman_ would always be there for you to return home, you knew that you’d always have a connection to the _Pearl_ , that you’d always be able to find it and she you. When all the pieces were gathered, you’d return the coin, and then… Then you’d see.

You knocked on a slightly unhinged wooden door and a hunched crone opened, looking at you with suspicion.

“Hello”, you said in Malay, “I hear starfish are flying this time of year”.

The woman scoffed and let you in. You had bought dearly the watchword to get access to the underbelly of Singapore; there would be no more lavish inns for you for some time after that, so you’d have to settle for Barbossa’s cabin. Not that you were complaining.

You were led downstairs, into a wide cavern with stalactites and natural hot water pools where scores of women lounged and chatted. Some of them stared at you as you passed, but you paid them no notice. Female dens were the best places to obtain information. Nobody ever paid any attention to the women, and they had learnt how to exploit that.

You were led to an ageing yet muscular woman with a single eye, clearly in charge of the whole operation. She was smoking from a pipe and blew the smoke directly to your face, but you remained undaunted

“I’m looking for Jack Sparrow”.

“Jack Sparrow? I haven’t heard that name in ages”.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard. I heard he came to Singapore some months ago, and I’d like to know why and where he went to after this”.

“You want to know many things”, she said, taking another puff. “How will you pay for this information?”

“In kind”, you smiled, raising a little pouch heavy with money, and spent the rest of the night talking with the boss, exchanging wisdom you had learnt in your travels with the _Pearl_ , always carefully omitting anything that might give you away or the _Pearl_ ’s crew. No mention of the curse or of the gold, but many juicy bits on politics and treaties, information you knew would be of more interest to the mafia in the shadows than stories about ghosts and enchanted coins.

Come morning, you were pointed towards a ship in the harbour that had taken Sparrow towards Madagascar, where the boss had lost track of him. You headed there, knowing full well that you at least owed your captain some information about the fugitive pirate. You had spent the better part of the last six months aboard the _Pearl_ , beating the shit out of the crew at dice and helping them find the missing gold, your mission regarding Sparrow all but forgotten.

No, you hadn’t really forgotten it, as it gnawed at you at the back of your mind, but you hadn’t gotten across to getting on with it. You had been stretching out your time on the _Pearl_ as much as possible, but the coins were nearly all gathered. The time to break the curse was nearing.

“Sparrow?”

The men eyed you, also with suspicion. You stood out like a sore thumb in Singapore.

“I hear you carried him to Madagascar some weeks ago. Could you perhaps take me there?”, you asked, taking a single gold coin out of your pocket. Enough money to get their attention and make it worth their while. Hopefully they wouldn’t try to mug you on the way there.

“We leave in an hour”.

You sat at the prow of the boat, big enough for ten people or so, and thought about what you had learnt. Sparrow had miraculously escaped from the island he had been left stranded on, which you knew wouldn’t please Barbossa at all, and had made his way to several towns before landing on Singapore, where he had become entangled in some trouble involving a married woman and a corset. He had of course had to leave in a hurry, leaving you again with no lead. Hopefully in Madagascar you’d find something.

The boat rocked with the current, already in open water, as the men adjusted the sails. You missed the _Dutchman_ and your father, but most of all you found you missed the _Pearl_ , Pintel and Ragetti and, especially, Barbossa: the dinners you two sometimes had, discussing everything from politics and boatmanship to legends and folklore, and those books you had mocked on your second meeting. You knew he didn’t totally trust you, as you kept evading the question of where you’d come from, but you’d proven loyal enough and helped them find an enormous amount of coins.

You were kind of looking forward to seeing what Barbossa was like free of the curse, without that gloomy demeanour that sometimes took him over, with the warmth of life pulsing through his body.

Yes, you were definitely looking forward to that.

“Hey, you”. One of the sailors went up to you, holding something up. Mindlessly, you took it, realising it was some kind of ornament for dreadlocks.

“Am I supposed to know what this is?”

“We jus’ found it. Belongs to that Sparrow you lookin’ for. He left it ‘ere”.

Under you the sea shuddered and the boat bumped into something.

You looked up at the sailor, bewilderment in your eyes.

“Oh, fuck”.

Then the kraken swallowed the ship whole.

“You could’ve _told me_ that you were tracking Sparrow!”

“What on earth are you doing here?”

The storm thrashed around you, soaking you to the bone. Near the rocks, the broken remains of the Singaporean sailboat sank into the water as the members of the crew who had survived the kraken’s fangs cowered before Davy Jones and his men.

“I got on the wrong boat, apparently. At least I managed to find you easily”.

Your hair stuck to your face and you could feel the cold water sliding inside your boots. Under the water you were _wholly_ submerged and the feeling was almost magical; this was plain miserable.

Davy Jones looked at you quizzically and then turned towards the sailors. They shuddered, whether from cold or from pure terror you didn’t know, and you felt for them when all of them, except one, chose death rather than serving aboard the _Dutchman_. Fools. You knew death and you knew life, existing in the liminal border between the two, and you would choose life, even aboard the _Dutchman_ , one hundred times over.

The scrunch of metal against bone sounded once and bodies were dropped to the sea. Jones turned to return to his cabin and made a gesture for you to follow him.

“So _are_ you tracking Sparrow?”

“No, the kraken was hungry and we were in need of a new lookout. I thought I had given the job of tracking Sparrow to you months ago, although it seems you have forgotten all about it, Miss Jones”.

Shit. Not the formal treatment. He must’ve been really angry to greet you like this after six months.

“I haven’t forgotten, I’ve…”

“You’ve never been sloppy before, not once, yet you fail to find a single man who’s anything but discreet? What is going on, Meridith?”

For once in your life, you were at a loss for words. You didn’t know what was going on because you genuinely didn’t know. What could you tell him? That you had gotten along with the crew from the _Pearl_ so you had decided to selflessly help them? That you had met your match with Hector Barbossa and wanted to discover more about him? Dammit, why did all your thoughts lately return to Barbossa?

Davy Jones read the confusion and the agitation in your eyes and all his tentacles raised in alert. He looked towards his organ, where a medallion in the shape of a crab with a human face was hung, for him never to forget.

“Beto”, he started, very gently. “Look at me. Look at me!”

You obeyed, somewhat meekly.

“I don’t know what you’re getting yourself mixed into, but don’t let anyone do to you what was done to me. Anyone”.

“I promise I won’t fail you, dad. I promise. I’ll find Sparrow”.

“I don’t care about Sparrow. I care about you. And about what would happen if I lost you”.

This last bit touched your still heart and you cupped his cheek.

“I would never do something like that to you. Never. I swear on my heart”.

At this he chuckled.

“That’s a terrible oath, coming from you”.

You laughed and hugged him, and sat with him in his cabin for the rest of the night while the _Dutchman_ ploughed through the depths of the Pacific Ocean. You told him of Sparrow being stranded after the mutiny, losing the _Pearl_ , which Jones wasn’t pleased about. You told him about Turner about the _Pearl_ and its curse and about Sparrow’s miraculous escape and your visit to Singapore. You didn’t tell him about how your skin had prickled when Barbossa gifted you the pendant with the coin or how you had looked forward to dinner with him every week for the last six months.

You didn’t tell him and he didn’t ask.

He sucked on his pipe all the time, small bubbles rising from it towards the ceiling in lieu of smoke spirals. Every now and again he glanced at the crab pendant on his organ but didn’t say anything. Sometimes you both just preferred this companionable silence; he had brought you up and knew you better than yourself. Sometimes you just didn’t need to say anything.

Maccus’ ragged breathing broke the peace when he burst in through the door, sword in hand and eyes glinting with excitement.

“Captain, ship on sight! A big one too”.

Jones looked at you and smiled a wicked smile.

“We still are in need of new recruits”.

You smiled back and adjusted your hat. Maccus bowed to you and stood to the side to let you through the door. You drew your sword and stepped on the deck as the _Ducthman_ emerged, guns at the ready, men jeering and bloodthirsty.

“Let’s dance, boys!”, you yelled and charged.


	15. Dinner by candlelight

“We found these in the burning remains of a ship just off the coast of Honolulu. Terrible wreckage, it must have been a savage attack”.

You managed not to choke on your wine as Barbossa proudly showed you the bottles of wine he had just ‘acquired’ and maintained your face carefully neutral, leaning on your elbow towards Barbossa with a “please, do tell me more” expression.

It had indeed been savage. It was never pretty when the _Dutchman_ was done with its prey, but this time you had some pent-up anxiety simmering from your chat with your father that needed releasing. And those poor bastards had taken the brunt of it.

“Good vintage, at least”. You looked at the wine bottles, their labels half burnt from the attack, and sipped your glass. Barbossa looked at you as if he felt there was something you weren’t telling him but you played dumb, as you did when anything remotely related to your past or to the _Dutchman_ came up.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink? I feel terrible emptying your stores all the time”.

“Do you really?”, asked Barbossa.

“Nah. But it’s the polite thing to say”.

“Any wine that I drank would go to waste with me and you know it”, he finally answered your question. “I’d rather wait until the curse is lifted and… indulge myself”.

“Huh. What’s the first thing you’ll do when you’re free?”

His eyes met yours. You were sitting very comfortably, back resting against the cushioned chair, feet up on the table, not very ceremoniously, but dinner was over and your chats didn’t require any particular degree of politeness. He got up and started walking around the room. You could sense his hands fidgeting, words unspoken on the tip of his tongue. He then relaxed again and the atmosphere in the cabin shifted.

“Eat a whole casket of apples”.

“Really?”

“Oh yes. I crave to feel its taste, its texture, its juices dribbling down my chin…”

“That’s disgusting”.

“It’s life”.

It probably was. Not being able to taste food or drink or even to feel the warmth of another human being must have been a torture. Giving in to your most primal instincts was only the logical reaction to freeing yourself from that sort of situation. But to some extent you couldn’t help but feel rather disappointed with his answer…

“What about you?”

“Hm?” He had caught you unawares with his question. “What about me?”

“What would you want to do if you broke your curse? Ever thought about it?”

You snorted.

“Nah, mate. Mine is not something you can “break”. I’m just like this. Have always been, will always be. I can’t be fixed, and I don’t want to”.

“I didn’t mean to cause offense”.

You shook your head as he sat down again next to you.

“None taken. Honestly, you’re the first person to find out about me and… not be afraid of it”.

He gave you a quizzical look which you returned. Some people had discovered that you weren’t normal in the past, but they never lived long after that. Some of them you had even liked, but words cut deep and they’d said things that had brought the worst out of you, ending rather brutally. You had then sobbed in your room aboard the _Dutchman_ for days, with Jones and the crew not knowing how to handle a whimpering teenager. You had ended up believing that nobody would ever accept you outside the _Dutchman_ , that it’d be your only home forever, but now… Barbossa and the _Pearl_ were beginning to make you think differently.

“You didn’t bat an eyelash when you saw my skeleton form, why should I be any different?”

He was right, and yet… You had never realised how much you needed to hear that. How you _craved_ it. To know that you could belong somewhere else, that people wouldn’t point at you with a finger and stare at you in horror.

Without thinking, you raised your hand to the coin that rested upon your chest, feeling its rugged surface and the skeletal eyes that looked out of it. Barbossa followed your hand with his eyes. Just one more coin to go; after that, the curse would be lifted.

“Will I be able to stay? Once everything is over?”

Barbossa hesitated, but when he spoke his voice sounded soft.

“You’re welcome to”. He then added, in his usual mischievous tone, “It’ll be handy to have at least one person aboard who still can’t die”.

You laughed at that and bowed in mockery, glad to be of service.

“Won’t your family miss you though? If you don’t return to them”.

“Ah, I see what you’re trying to do there. It’s not gonna work, you know”.

“As mysterious as ever. What are you hiding, Meridith?”

You took your time. He was being more insistent than usual, but nobody could beat you at being strong headed. You wouldn’t budge.

“You don’t want to know, trust me”.

“And whyever not?”

“You’d be terrified of me”.

“Hah! I highly doubt it. I’m still willing to give it a try”.

Barbossa leaned against one of the tables at the back of his cabin with a smirk and crossed his arms. You had a sudden urge to get up and walk to him, and that you did. Maybe it was the wine, making your head swim, but you could feel the air vibrating around you two.

This man, this scruffy, unkempt pirate knew more about you than anybody else above the sea because _you_ had let him. And now that you were reaching the end of the adventure that had brought you together… There was an urgency in your breath, as if everything would change once you reached your destination and found the remaining coin.

Barbossa straightened, taking you in with a single look, and brushed your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into his touch, so different from the hunger that he had shown with his movements in your first encounters, back then when you were strangers to each other. His hand roamed downwards, brushing your arm slowly, as if he wanted to savour the moment, and you placed your hands on his chest. He was wearing again that beautiful vest, but this time the feeling was completely different. He cupped your cheek in his palm and raised your face to meet his eyes.

You were entranced by the decision and the freedom that you could read in them. Like the stormy sea you had been born into, he was untameable, and he would once again take charge of his destiny.

Hector Barbossa, captain of the _Black Pearl_ and Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. You liked how it sounded.

He tilted his head, the bright feathers of his hat tipping forward, and his lips brushed yours.

Slamming the door with his usual lack of delicacy, Bo’sun barged into the cabin and staggered upon seeing you two so close. Barbossa flinched and stepped away from you. Your body suddenly felt cold, so much colder than you’d ever felt before.

“ _What_ ”, he spat.

“Captain”, said Bo’sun, looking alternatively and then at you, “we’ve arrived at Port Royal”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am! :D


	16. Port Royal

Port Royal.

The location of the very last coin and, presumably, Turner’s son. The last stop in the _Pearl_ ’s cursed journey.

But it all faded into the distance with the rumbling inside your head that Barbossa’s lips brushing yours had caused. You felt fuzzy, dizzy, three different types of excited, and couldn’t wait until Bo’sun left so Barbossa would…

Walk out of the cabin.

He didn’t even look at you as he left. Your heart sank to your feet. If you had blood flowing through your veins you’d feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You’d feel _something_ , at any rate.

The way in which Barbossa stepped away from you had been like a slap to the face. You hadn’t been able to react. Was he embarrassed to have been caught tangled up with you? Was he angry? Was he _regretful_?

Was it such a horrible thing that you two had almost kissed?

Bloody hell, it wasn’t like you had _proposed_ to him. It was just a fucking kiss! Why did he jump away from you like he had got burned?

The excitement slowly turned to anger and you stomped out of the cabin and into the deck. The mist still shrouded the _Pearl_ but the light of the first fires shone through, indicating that the attack was under way. The cannons boomed and both stone and wood were blown away. Such were the consequences of the passing of the _Black Pearl_ through any city: mayhem and destruction.

Barbossa was standing on the quarterdeck, speaking to Bo’sun and making a very clear effort to avoid looking at you. He refused to make eye contact and that only pissed you off further. He didn’t want you? _Fine_. He wouldn’t have you. You didn’t want a man-child who couldn’t make up his mind. Curse him and all those blasted pirates!

You had half a mind to run away with the coin that still hung from your neck and sod them all when Pintel and Ragetti came up to you, readying their pistols with glee. They both wore the earrings you had brought them for Singapore.

“Beto! Beto! Ready for another assault?”

“Heeheehee, this is gonna be great! Are you coming with us?”, asked Ragetti, shifting his wooden eye until it looked like it was staring at you. “You can cover us, like that time in Antiga… Is everything ok?”

You had a more than noticeable scowl on your face, but you wouldn’t give Barbossa the luxury of thinking that you _cared_. That you were _offended_. Because you weren’t. You certainly weren’t.

Fuck him.

“Sure, I’m going with you. I need to kick some asses tonight”, you said, cocking your gun. Your sword felt reassuring against your hip. You were angry. You were gonna fuck shit up.

The pirates landed ashore in their human forms under the shelter of the cloudy night sky, firing as they advanced. Everyone and everything went down before them: men, women, buildings, nothing would be spared. Port Royal burned better that other cities and soon everything was a smoky mess. You started cutting down the British soldiers that came up to you to try to stop you and got ensnared by the fighting and the chaos. Of course, Barbossa didn’t leave the ship. He was too grand for such a debasing activity such as raiding. He would just comfortably wait for his men to bring the gold to him.

Fuck him.

You soon realised you had lost Pintel and Ragetti. A file of torches that were marching up to a stately manor that lay over the town, on one of the surrounding hills, told you that they were probably heading that way. The governor’s home, surely. Would the final coin be there? It wasn’t your problem, really. You just needed to discharge all your anger before returning to the ship and biting someone’s head off.

Suddenly, amongst the screaming people, you saw Jacoby lying face down on the ground with an axe embedded on the back of his head. You frowned at this; admittedly, Jacoby was a little eccentric and his face might have given you nightmares from time to time, but he had an undying love for parakeets that almost made him endearing. A young man stood over him and grabbed the axe, only to go fight more of your comrades. You walked up to Jacoby and hoisted him up. He regained consciousness almost immediately and looked infuriated.

“Let’s find that little fucker”.

It wasn’t hard; self-proclaimed heroes were always easy to spot amongst the crowds. Jacoby jumped in front of him again and, taking advantage of his perplexity at seeing again a man that he had undoubtedly axed to death a little while ago, you clubbed the young man in the head so hard that he fell to the ground as if he was made of lead.

“Thanks”, said Jacoby, and ran away to continue his fun.

“You’re welcome”, you answered when he was too far away to hear you.

There wasn’t much more to do. The governor’s house would be crowded enough with everybody that seemed to have gone up there, and you could feel your thoughts settling. Carefully avoiding the unconscious body of the young man, you returned slowly to the ship. A couple of soldiers fired shots at you, but went down easily with a few bullets from your pistol. You took one of the small dinghies and returned aboard, where the remaining crew greeted you and you managed a small smile until you remembered the first few times when you had used chances just like this one to creep into the _Pearl_ and into Barbossa’s cabin, and the smile faded from your lips.

From the corner of your eye you could see him, still majestically standing at the helm, and wanted to bite _his_ head off. But you didn’t. You merely leaned against the bannister and waited for the party that had gone to the governor’s manor to return with the gold. Then he and his blasted crew could go solve their curse so that the kraken could eat them properly for all you cared.

They returned, but not with the gold. Not only.

They returned with a girl.

She was young, younger that you, and although she was clearly scared she carried herself with a poise and a serenity that you couldn’t but admire. She was wearing a frilly white nightdress with a flowery dressing gown that contrasted starkly to the darkness of the _Pearl_ ’s wooden deck and a lovely hairdo. She was terribly out of place in the _Pearl_ , but then again, so were you.

Pintel was dragging her by the arm with a very annoyed expression on his face, Ragetti in tow. Bo’sun stopped them as soon as they stepped foot on board. She didn’t lose her chill.

“I didn’t know we was takin’ on captives”, he said with his booming voice.

“She’s invoked the right of parley with Captain Barbossa!”, explained Pintel. Ragetti looked at you and shrugged with a playful smile. Yet another shrewd woman who knew to invoke the Code to avoid getting slaughtered and ended up aboard. Hopefully this one wouldn’t kick the captain in the nuts and swim away.

“I am here to―”, the girl walked up to Bo’sun, all decision and fire, but he slapped her into silence so hard her face turned all the way.

“You’ll speak when spoken to!”

There you were, fast as lighting, holding down Bo’sun’s hand until his bone creaked. He turned to you, ready to yell at you, but he immediately shut up when he saw the anger burning in your eyes.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch her again”.

The rest of the crew, who had jeered at the slap, fell silent too. Bo’sun tugged away his hand with a grunt and stepped aside, and suddenly Barbossa was back at your side.

You fought the urge to give him the same treatment that Bo’sun had given the girl, but thought better of it. Nothing good would come of publicly humiliating the ship’s captain for such a personal matter. No, you’d do things another way.

Barbossa didn’t look at you, but rather smiled at the girl.

“My apologies, miss”, he said, obviously not meaning it.

“Captain Barbossa, I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal”. Her eyes darted towards you, as if she expected you to intervene again on her behalf. You didn’t.

A rumour of laughter spread across the ship. Barbossa chuckled.

“There are a lot of long words in there, miss. We’re naught but humble pirates! What is it that you want?”

“I want you to leave and never come back”.

More laughter.

“I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Means no”.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help a smile coming to your lips. He had a fast wit that was a match to that proud lady’s. You thought he saw you smirking at your reaction and you remodelled your face into neutrality. The girl, however, was not having it and walked to the bannister after tugging something from her neck.

“Very well, then. I’ll drop it”.

Gold glinted with the fire.

Barbossa stepped forward but kept calm. Your eyes were fixed on that last coin of the Aztec gold. Who was she?

“Me holds are bursting with swag. That bit of shine matters to us? Why?”

“It’s what you’ve been searching for! I recognise this ship, I saw it eight years ago on the crossing from England!”

“Did you now?”

You knew that you were fast enough to run to the girl and catch the coin, especially since nobody was paying you any attention, save from a few quizzical looks from the English girl, but hell, you were enjoying too damn much Barbossa’s little theatre.

“Fine”, she said, shrugging nonchalantly. “I suppose if it is worthless, there’s no point in me keeping it”, and the pendant with the coin slid further from her hand to the water.

“No!”

The whole crew shouted as one. The girl smiled, knowing she had won.

“Ah”.

Oh, you _liked_ her.

“You have a name, missy?”, Barbossa went up to her. He feigned calm, even boredom, but you could sense the annoyance in him. You knew him too well.

“Elizabeth Turner. I’m a maid in the governor’s household”.

 _No you’re not_ , you thought. At the mention of her surname, the crew started murmuring like crazy. Turner! Bootstrap’s kid! The last coin! You alone amongst them knew the truth. She wasn’t Turner’s daughter, mainly because he did _not_ have a daughter; he had an only son, so this girl was lying.

And she had just condemned herself.

“You hand that over and we’ll put your town to our rudder and never return”.

You wanted to scream that it was a trap, that you should never negotiate with pirates unless you had another crew and thirty cannons to make sure they respected your terms, and even then it was a risk, but she handed over the coin to Barbossa, who gave it to Jack and nodded to Bo’sun.

“Still the gins and stow’em! Signal the men and make good to clear port!”

“Wait!”, she screamed, running after Barbossa. “You have to take me to shore! According to the Code…!”

“First!”, exploded Barbossa, “your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. Secondly, you must be a pirate for the Pirate’s Code to apply and you’re not. And thirdly, the Code is more of what you’d call guidelines than actual rules. Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_ , Miss Turner!”

Barbossa waved her away as Pintel and Ragetti shoved her away in one of the cabins of the mates’ quarters while she screamed and kicked, and after shooting him a look you rushed after her. You quickly slipped into the cabin as Pintel was closing the door and barred it from the inside. Elizabeth ‘Turner’ covered herself with her arms and looked at you like a terrified deer, as if she thought you were going to do something to her.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

You raised a single finger to your lips asking her for silence.

“I can’t do that, Elizabeth. You’ve doomed yourself. But I can help you”.

“Doomed myself? What? Why?”

“I know you’re not a Turner. Bill Turner only had a son”.

She went white and you took advantage of her shock to speak.

“Do as I say and I promise you won’t be killed. I promise”.

“Why would you help me? Aren’t you part of their crew?”

“No”, you replied, but hesitated. “Not of _their_ crew. Anyway, I have a soft spot for girls who try to bite more than they can chew. And I don’t like disorder on the ships I sail. Not this kind, at any rate”.

Elizabeth looked at you with a bewildered expression, but you just tilted your hat.

“The name’s Beto. Beto Jones. I promise I’ll keep you safe. For now at least”.

And with that you left the poor girl, huddling in the dark in her nightgown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Meridith, your kiss will have to wait. I make her suffer, don't I... Hahaha  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying it!


	17. Words cut deeper than knives

“I thought the _Pearl_ didn’t take prisoners”.

Barbossa was studying some maps as you stomped into his cabin, but he didn’t bother looking up at you. You knew he was browsing his documents just to look intellectual; he had already given orders to sail to Isla de Muerta, where the rest of the gold awaited.

“She’s not a prisoner, she’s a very necessary accessory to ending the curse and also”, with this he finally lifted his eyes to you, “not your business”.

“I make it my business to ensure young women aren’t vandalised in crews such as yours, Captain”.

“Last time I checked, miss Jones, this was _my_ crew and _my_ ship and I’ll do with it as I damn well please”.

You groaned with exasperation. It was all terribly dumb and you knew leaving was a mistake, because if this girl had the medallion, chances were she knew Turner’s son or at least where to find him, but after how Barbossa had suddenly decided to begin treating you, you were less than inclined to clear up that mistake.

“Yes, because doing what you damn well please went _so well_ before”.

That incensed him. He didn’t like getting criticism and having his own mistakes thrown in his face only irritated him further. He walked up to you, grimacing.

“I’m not going to get talked down by the likes of you, you hear me?”

“I see accepting you’ve made mistakes and facing them is something you’re not very good at, captain. Is that it? Is that why you’ve chosen to terrorise and kill this girl, who has no blame or knowledge of the curse you stupidly brought upon yourselves?”

“Oh, don’t you dare give me the holier-than-thou attitude, Meridith, we both know you’re very far from being a saint. You have blood on your hands, same as I do”.

“Yes, but at least I take responsibility for my own actions”.

He understood perfectly what you meant, and you expected him to at least address the issue, but then he turned away and returned to his maps. 

“I’ll be having dinner with Miss Turner tonight. Since you seem to be so sweet on her, you can tell her yourself”, Barbossa said, and you nearly turned your head full circle.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pardon granted. Now go”.

So not only was he going to say _nothing_ of what had gone on between you two before but now he was replacing you with someone else for dinner?

“You know, I’m glad the curse has ‘made you unable to feel a woman’s warmth’”, you said, moving your index and middle fingers, imitating Barbossa’s tragic narration of the consequences of the curse. “The further away you people are from any woman the better!”

And then you stormed off, hissing at anybody who got near you. In other circumstances you’d just leave and go find the _Dutchman_ , blow off some steam with your crewmates and forget about the asshole who was paining you despite your best efforts to convince yourself otherwise, but you refused to leave Elizabeth alone. Not for now, at least. You’d told Barbossa one thing, but you were determined not to let her die on your watch.

It was Pintel and Ragetti who finally informed Elizabeth that she was expected for dinner and handed her a _dress_. A _velvet dress_. You were outraged, looking at it from the distance, arms crossed and mouth pouting. _He never offered me a dress,_ you thought. It looked beautiful. But then another thought popped into your head. _Why do they have a velvet dress?_ It was a medium size, pretty standard. You’d have to very inquisitively ask Barbossa about that at another time. No kinkshaming, definitely, but hey… He probably looked better in it than you, at any rate.

It didn’t take long before Elizabeth re-emerged from Barbossa’s cabin, screaming, and fell into the bony mass of pirates working on the main deck, who decided they were gonna have some fun with her. You could read in the poor girl’s face that she would have nightmares for years to come with this moment, but you didn’t do anything to help her. Maybe you should, but it was best she learned about the curse sooner rather than later. The more she feared the men, the less she’d be inclined to do something silly. And Bo’sun’s cracking arm had already been a warning to the crew to not be inclined to do something silly to _her_.

Barbossa’s skeletal visage was too much for Elizabeth and she sheltered herself in his cabin, after which Barbossa started laughing, pleased with himself. The crew laughed alongside him until he barked at them.

“What are you looking at? Back to work!”

You walked up to him, looking smug. He had a red stain on the left-hand side of his chest; you winced when you saw it but knew better than to make a public display of concern.

“That went well”.

Barbossa looked sideways at you, as if he wanted to say something but then thought better of it. He had been doing that a lot lately and it was beginning to grate on you.

“The girl knows her fate. Happy now?”, he snapped. It was beginning to grate _a lot_ on you.

“What’s going on with you?”

You were at a standoff, neither of you wanting to address the elephant in the room, until Barbossa walked away from you and onto the stairs to the quarterdeck.

“You’ve been lucky to be welcomed into this ship, Miss Jones. Don’t let it get to your head”.

And with that he left you, words hanging from your mouth and a knot in your stomach. You couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out.

“She’s not the one you’re looking for, you idiot!”

The crew went silent. Barbossa stopped and slowly turned towards you.

“What did you say?”

You gulped. Fuck, you weren’t supposed to divulge that you knew that. Not like that.

“She’s not Turner’s child. She won’t break the curse for you, no matter how much blood of hers you use”.

“And how exactly do you know that?”

He retraced his steps, coming towards you with his accustomed swagger as the whole crew stared at you.

“I just do. This isn’t going to work. She’s not the one”.

“Ah, so you just know? Do you know what I think? I think you’re jealous and angry that we’re going to be finally free while you’re going to keep on being your cursed, unnatural little self forever!”

As soon as his words left his mouth he realised he’d gone too far. You paled, if that was possible, and looked as if you had been struck. You didn’t have it in you to answer. You had been hurt before, but never like this. You had known rejection but you had been able to deal with it before because you hadn’t… cared. You realised you _cared_ now. And you’d just had your heart smashed into pieces in front of a dedicated audience.

Without answering, you smashed open the captain’s cabin and closed the door behind you, barricading it again with the same chairs Elizabeth had used. She was huddled against the back of the room, still holding the bloodied knife with which she must have stabbed Barbossa. You collapsed right next to her, leaning your back against the wooden cabinets, and she stiffened until you offered her a bottle of wine you had nicked from the table.

“What a fucking day, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no D: Barbossa, what have you dooooone!  
> Thanks for reading!!


	18. Isla de Muerta

Isla de Muerta was exactly what one would expect from an island with that name. Aptly shaped as a human skull, engulfed in mist and surrounded by waters populated by sharks and sunken ships, it was as dreary and atmospheric as the best pirate ballads could wish for. You had quite a dramatic streak, so you really liked it, especially as it was filled with shiny loot from a thousand and one raids carried out by the _Pearl_. You liked shiny loot.

On the inside, a cave with channels excavated by water held swathes of gold, silver and shiny trinkets. The wealth amassed by the pirates could last them for generations, if only they were free to use it. You could imagine the fights that would break out as soon as they were fully human again when the time came to divide the booty.

You were sulking, as much as you hated to admit it, and didn’t even look up at Barbossa as he dragged Elizabeth to the heap of gold atop which the chest sat. It was a bulky thing, carved out of stone with the same design as the coins: geometrical patterns forming four square areas on its long sides, inside of which four human figures, dressed in full Aztec regalia and as ominous-looking as the little skulls from the coins, stared at you. You wondered how they hadn’t realised before that it might be cursed – hell, it looked like it could bite you if you so much as looked at it sideways!

The crew looked excited: all eight hundred pieces of gold had been gathered and the end to their toils was near! But there was something dampening the mood, something that had cast a pail on the general enthusiasm and which Barbossa had refused to discuss with anybody. All the men had heard you claim that the girl from Port Royal wasn’t the person they were looking for and doubts had crept in. It wouldn’t be the first time Barbossa had deceived them – after all, it was his fault that they were cursed in the first place. So there was a second kind of buzz going around, an expectation to see whether their captain was right – or the weird undead girl.

“Is it true? She’s not Turner’s daughter?”

Pintel and Ragetti had pulled you aside after you’d emerged from the cabin and stood watch at the door, preventing anybody from getting to Elizabeth. You weren’t sure how to stop Barbossa from cutting her throat, short of knocking him out cold, but you were determined not to let her die.

“She’s not”.

“But how do you know?”

“I know, okay? I can’t explain it. Don’t ask me to”.

Ragetti looked a bit like a sad puppy, droopy eyes and confusion, but none of them pushed the question further. They seemed to believe you, but Elizabeth’s fate was sealed. They’d left her in the velvet dress, with the medallion hanging from her neck. You still had one last coin, also with a golden chain, and you stroked it, remembering of Barbossa’s words when he had given it to you.

_This way we’ll always be able to find each other._

That ended today. After that, nothing bound you to him. You could resume tracking the _Pearl_ from afar until Sparrow appeared and forget about the ships goddamned captain.

Could you?

You walked up to the chest, giving Elizabeth a friendly squeeze in the shoulder as you passed her by, and then stared at Barbossa. He looked back at you, the first time he had done so since your quarrel, and you read in his eyes something akin to regret. But he didn’t apologise. You knew he wouldn’t, it wasn’t his style. And you weren’t one to budge, either. What a pair of headstrong idiots.

Without breaking from his blue eyes, you yanked his gift from your neck and carelessly threw it into the chest.

“She’s not the one”, you repeated.

“We’ll see about that”.

The men started chanting and you retreated to one of the caved-in walls of the grotto. Barbossa raised his arms theatrically in a no-doubt rehearsed speech.

“Gentleman, the time has come!”

Elizabeth heaved.

“Our salvation is nigh!”

You thought you could sense movement out of the corner of your eye but there was nothing behind you when you looked. All doubt had passed; Barbossa’s speech had incensed the men and you could sense the thirst for blood in the air. Drawing into the shadows, you drew your pistol. It wouldn’t kill anyone, but it’d be enough to slow them down and let Elizabeth escape if it came to it. Such a shame, really: seeing Barbossa all fired up, overflowing with passion upon that heap of gold made you feel _things_.

“Every last piece that went astray we have returned. Save for this!”

A clink of moving gold caught your eye and you saw Jack the monkey jumping away from Barbossa. There definitely was somebody else in the island. But who could it be? And what did they want?

You didn’t have much time to dwell on that. The men started to shout for Elizabeht’s blood, the tension drumming in your ears as swords were lifted. Barbossa pushed Elizabeth against the chest and took a knife.

“Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!”

The chanting took over the crew. Even the water below your feel vibrated. You discreetly raised your gun.

“Begun by blood, by blood undone”, said Barbossa, putting the last coin into Elizabeth’s extended palm and slicing it until red blood bubbled out.

The coin fell.

The men went silent, expectant.

And nothing happened.

“Did it work?” asked Koehler.

“I don’t feel no different!”, answered Ragetti.

“So how do we tell?”

Barbossa rolled his eyes, took out his pistol and shot Pintel.

You couldn’t help to be rather outraged, just like your friend, despite knowing it was impossible for him to be harmed. Elizabeth was not a Turner and all that farce had been for nothing, but still, it wasn’t nice to shoot one of your crewmembers just to make a point.

Indeed, Pintel didn’t die.

Complaints started to be voiced. You could see the men’s mind turning against Barbossa, who had once again disappointed them. Despite his promises, they were still cursed.

You put away your pistol and walked up to the mountain of gold in a few long strides, and Barbossa fixed his eyes on you, staring in outrage. You raised your hands in what you hoped looked like a peace offering, but couldn’t help yourself.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you’, but…”

“Don’t you dare”.

“I told you”.

“How did you know?”

“That’s barely important now, you have bigger problems to take care of. Like your men starting to think whether they shouldn’t have left _you_ too stranded on that island with Sparrow”.

Barbossa looked around. You were right. The men were beginning scream against their captain.

“You!”, he turned towards Elizabeth, who suddenly looked determined and defiant. “What’s your name? Was your father William Turner??”

“No”.

“Argh!”, he yelled, and struck her so hard that she fell backwards, crumpling towards the base of the mountain of gold. You heard a thud and saw she had hit her head against the rocks and was unconscious, and unsheathed your sword and pointed it towards Barbossa.

“I said nobody was to harm her!”

“You said many things, my dear, but I wonder to what extent we can trust you on anything!”, he replied, mirroring your action.

“If you had listened to me in the first place this wouldn’t be happening!”

“She’s right!”, said Pintel, still bitter that he had a smoking hole smack in the middle of his chest.

“No, she’s not!”, said Bo’sun. “How do we know she’s not the one playin’ tricks on us? She’s not normal and she just messed everything up! And you let her on board!”

“It’s your fault! You brought us here for nothin’ and allowed that lass to play us!”, said someone else.

“I’ll not have any questioning my authority from the likes of you, you mangy sons of hyenas!”, replied Barbossa, taking his sword away from you and pointing it towards the crew.

“Why not? Every decision you have taken has lead us from bad to worse. You sent Turner to the depths, you allowed that woman on board!”, yelled Koehler, pointing at you with his head.

“Careful, Koehler, or I’ll have your tongue out and there’s no curse that can make that grow back!”, you replied, imitating Barbossa and threatening the men with your blade. It was you two against a good hundred men, but you weren’t afraid. You’d take them all on if need be, and then you’d kick Barbossa’s ass for not listening at you and getting into such a mess.

Suddenly they weren’t so brave anymore. You had been in more fights than most of them, and all bloody to the bone. And you knew they could read that in your eyes. You wouldn’t kill them, to be sure, but you’d make sure it hurt. A lot.

And then you realised Elizabeth was gone.

You nearly tripped over the chest when you saw the empty space where her body had been, and when Barbossa followed your eyes he went white.

“The medallion!! She’s taken it!! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!”

Every man in the room scrambled to get their weapons and to find the fugitive, their former anger forgotten as they realised that, right blood or not, the girl had taken their only chance at ending the curse. Barbossa stood atop the mound for a second and your eyes met. You were both still holding your swords, ready to jump on the people who until seconds ago were demanding your heads, and you suddenly realised he had defended you. His honour and captainship had been in question, to be sure, but he had reacted when Koehler had suggested that everything was your fault.

You wanted to say something, but didn’t know what after what he had said to you aboard the _Pearl_. His words still rang in your ears. However, there was again a tension between you, a spark, as you stood together against the world.

And then the men fell silent as a groggy figure holding an oar entered the cave. Barbossa stared at him and went very still. You could see his mouth wording ‘impossible’. The whole crew pointed guns and daggers at the man, who didn’t seem very concerned.

“Pearlie… Per-lay-lee-loo-loo? Parnsip… No, pars…ley?”

Finally, _finally_ , you had found Jack Sparrow.


	19. What now?

The mood aboard the _Pearl_ was so tense you could cut it with a knife. The perennial mists that accompanied the ship wherever it went still hung around you, despite the sunny weather that gleamed from time to time outside your shadowy cocoon. You were right outside Barbossa’s cabin and you could see Jack Sparrow’s figure moving from side to side while Barbossa sat comfortably on his padded chair. You hadn’t been allowed entry, so had decided to eavesdrop whatever conversation they were having.

Truth be told, you were still shaky from your encounter with the former captain of the _Black Pearl_. While you had boasted to your father that _of course_ you hadn’t forgotten what had taken you in the first place to the _Pearl_ , it had been pushed into the background of your mind from the moment you had met Hector Barbossa. And now you were realising that this was it for you. He was there, right there in front of you. It was as simple as walking up to him, placing the black spot upon his hand and leaving without looking back. The _Pearl_ and its crew would cease to be your business and you’d never again cross paths with them.

You realised that you couldn’t do that.

The mere thought of never seeing Barbossa again felt like wrenching your guts out with a gardening rake. Bloody hell, you were beginning to understand why Davy Jones had decided to cut his heart out and lock it up in a box.

Back at the cave you had just stood there, staring as the clearly damaged pirate attempted to ask for parley while the men looked at him as if he were a ghost. He looked younger than you’d imagined him and, from the way he was slurring his words, not too bright, but you weren’t deceived by this façade. A man who had captained a ship, survived a mutiny and escaped from the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ for thirteen years couldn’t be stupid. There had to be more to Jack Sparrow than met the eye.

Or so you hoped.

“Oh”, he said when he spotted you, “you’re new”.

You didn’t know how to answer. Barbossa pushed the men aside to get to Sparrow, who saluted him with a smile and pointed to you with his thumb.

“A new addition to the crew, huh? Glad to see at least one pretty face around here”.

“How on earth did you escape from that island?”, spat Barbossa.

“See, when you marooned me on that godforsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow”.

He had guts, you’d give him that.

“Ah, well, I won’t make that mistake again. Kill him!”

“The girl’s blood didn’t work, did it? Just like the lady predicted”.

The crew turned to you and you felt your skin prickle.

“And I suppose you know whose blood we need?”, asked Barbossa, sceptical.

“Aye. I know whose blood you need”, replied Sparrow, smiling mischievously.

Barbossa had taken you aside as soon as you had all returned to the _Pearl_ and put Sparrow in irons. Every man was now looking at you suspiciously, as if they thought you were in cahoots with Sparrow and had conspired to make the ritual fail, but none dared attack you outright. They were too busy preparing to chase the ship that had taken Elizabeth away and that apparently carried William Turner, the real son of Bootstrap.

Sparrow was taken away and no sooner had you stepped into his cabin, Barbossa slammed you against the wall, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt.

“Did you know about William Turner?”, he demanded.

“No! I mean, yes, I knew that he existed, but I had no idea that he was coming after Elizabeth!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried!”, you barked back. “But you’re obviously determined not to believe anything I say until it’s too late, so I fail to see the relevance of whether I’ve withheld information from you or not!”

“Is this a game to you? Don’t take me for an idiot, Meridith Jones, or you’ll pay dearly for it”.

You pushed him away, extremely irritated. He seemed to have forgotten very quickly that moment when he had defended you in front of his whole crew, and now you were a very comfortable scapegoat for his failure.

“Look, I’ve tried to help you from the beginning, okay? There are many things I just _can’t_ tell you, but if I’d wanted you to remain cursed I’d just have walked away with that pendant, wouldn’t I? And you’d never have found me, that I can promise you”.

That seemed to make him think and his body posture visibly relaxed.

“Barbossa”. His head turned to you at the mention of his name. “You once told me I had a place here if I wanted it. If that’s no longer the case, I’ll leave. You only have to say the word”.

 _After leaving Sparrow a little present_ , you thought, but didn’t say that out loud. Your question shook him. You realised he hadn’t expected you to think about _actually_ leaving, but he didn’t say no immediately.

“How do I know I can trust you?”, he said finally.

“You don’t”.

You couldn’t lie to him. More like, you didn’t _want_ _to_. Because you were deceiving him, being part of the _Dutchman_ ’s crew with a hidden agenda. If he ever discovered that… It’d definitely be the end. You were digging your own grave deeper every time, and the worst thing was you didn’t know how to stop.

He sighed and looked away.

“Get out. I have to speak with Jack”.

So there you were, feeling like a complete idiot, having annoyed and disappointed the captain you were pretending to serve and failing the captain you actually served. Why was it so hard to do anything right lately??

Sparrow seemed to be a man after your own heart. He had his own, witty way of outmanoeuvring Barbossa, withholding information and still avoiding getting shot. Whenever he ended up on the _Dutchman_ you’d probably get along. And he knew Bill Turner’s son. The seven seas were ridiculously big yet there everybody who seemed to be involved in this bloody business was crammed into three ships, and you were trying to juggle all of them. Something was bound to go very wrong very soon.

Ragetti walked up to you, fidgeting, and just stood there in silence.

“Hey”, you said after a while.

“I trust you”, he replied and scuttled away, leaving you terribly confused. But you’d take it. At least somebody in this ship seemed to like you.

And then the _Interceptor_ appeared in the horizon.


	20. Battle at sea

The first time you had fought a battle you’d been ten. Not because you’d been allowed or put out there by the captain, but because you’d been adamant not to obey orders of any kind, so when the crew of the _Dutchman_ saw a skinny short girl holding a sword nearly as big as her and bellowing profanities on the deck of the enemy ship it was too late to stop you. That day you learnt two things: firstly, that you’d been born for the adrenaline that coursed through your body when you boarded another ship, and secondly, that a shot right through the eyes left a very uncomfortable itch in your temples for a couple of days.

As the _Pearl_ approached the _Interceptor_ you could feel that same feeling of anticipation and excitement vibrating within your bones. The _Pearl_ was supernaturally fast and would catch the _Interceptor_ in no time. Suddenly Barbossa was once again at the helm, yelling instructions, with no sign of Jack Sparrow. The men ran to the oars, doubling the ship’s speed, and you could almost feel the _Interceptor_ trembling with fear.

You felt sorry for Elizabeth: the poor girl had got involved with something way bigger than her, and at least you’d managed to keep your promise until now. Sadly, she had chosen sides, and so had you.

You knew what you had to do. What would make Barbossa trust you.

Pintel and Ragetti ran into you, moving gunpowder and cannon balls to the lower deck, and grinned at you.

“Beto, you joining us later? Time for some fun!”, smiled Ragetti.

“Not this time, I’m afraid”, you grinned. “I’m going to find Turner Junior. A little surprise for the captain”.

The _Interceptor_ suddenly veered violently sideways and you heard Barbossa’s voice yelling to the men to rack the starboard oars and hard a port and braced for the violent pivot that you knew was coming.

The two ships faced each other, starboard to larboard, and the men jeered and screamed, ready to jump at each other’s necks.

“Fire!”

“Fireeee!”

The _Pearl_ and the _Interceptor_ both rocked with the impact of the cannons, wooden splinters flying everywhere, smoke clouding your eyes, and for a good five minutes everything you could hear was the booming of the guns. But it was not enough. You both had gunpowder and things to happily throw at each other until one of the two ships sunk. No, this had to end another way.

So you jumped.

You landed on the _Interceptor’s_ deck just as Barbossa gave the order to board and one of the _Pearl_ ’s cannons blew down the enemy’s main mast. The men aboard the _Interceptor_ stared at you in disbelief, a sudden silence filling the ship after the mast’s thud.

“Hello, gentleman”, you bowed. “Wanna dance?”.

You cut down the first two without much effort, making their deaths as fast and painless as possible, for you knew they’d suffer a fate much worse if they ended up as prisoners.

“Pistols and cutlasses, men! Bring me the medallion!”

Barbossa’s voice rang through the air, giving you a boost of confidence. You’d be the one to bring him the medallion _and_ young Turner. Hooks flew through the air and yanked on the deck’s wood, and a feral pack of blood-thirsty pirates boarded the ship.

Elizabeth was unmistakeable in her velvet dress (why was she still wearing that?), and you were pleasantly surprised to find her gun in hand, shooting left and right, but she wasn’t the one you were looking for. You scanned the deck for anyone slightly resembling the Bill Turner you knew and suddenly caught a glimpse of the young man you’d knocked out cold in Port Royal running down the stairs through the hatch.

 _No way_.

You made your way to the hatch, dodging bullets and flying splinters and pummelling anybody who dared stand in your way. You had to jump over the fallen mast and finally reached the entrance to the lower decks of the _Interceptor_. Water had rushed in from the many holes the cannons had blasted in the ship’s hull and it was starting to reach your ankles. In the dimness of the hold, the young man was frenetically looking for something in the water, splashing all around.

“William Turner?”

He went rigid and his hand immediately reached for his sword. He slowly turned his head towards you. You were surprised. He was very pretty, much more so than his father, but still he resembled him in the way he carried himself and in the light that shone in his eyes.

“You’re with the _Pearl_ ”, he muttered, raising his blade.

“Sort of. It’s nothing personal, but I need you and the medallion. Sorry”.

“I’m afraid it’s not going to happen”, he replied and lunged for you.

The space was very cramped and you had no place to go except down, so you threw yourself into the murky water that was steadily filling the chamber. It smelt like wet wood, salt and oil, but you had no time to grimace before rolling over and unsheathing your sword to block his next thrust while on your back.

“You look nothing like your father”, you said, knowing it would throw him off balance, and it did.

“You knew my father?”

You kicked him in the stomach, sending him backward, and jumped back on your feet, swaying with the ship. He hit his back against the crates stacked along the walls but immediately regained momentum and attacked you again.

“No, boy, I _know_ your father”, you replied as you parried his thrust, playing him through your feet movements, and diffused his next stab lifting your elbow and managed to pin him against an overturned table. “Unexpected, huh?”

“My father’s dead!”, he screamed at you, trying to get loose of your grip, but to no avail.

“Details. Where’s the medallion!?”, you yelled at him, water dripping down your hair, soaking your clothes. You had lost your hat in the struggle and were pissed about it.

He opened his mouth to answer and another wave of cannon fire shook the ship so violently that you both toppled over and fell hard against the wooden crates. A shower of broken timber and broken parts of the _Interceptor_ crashed on you, leaving you trapped under the debris.

There was water everywhere, up to your neck, and your arm was encased between two beams that crisscrossed the broken space of the hold. You couldn’t see Will Turner anywhere, but thought you heard a female voice calling his name from above. He could well be dead or dying. The only reason you hadn’t died was because you couldn’t, but everything hurt.

And then you saw it. The medallion, its eerie brilliance shining at the bottom of the hold. You tried to reach for it but your arm was firmly trapped. The water filled everything. You stretched out your fingers as much as you could, nearly yanking your arm out of its socket in the process, and as you grazed the gold coin, everything exploded.


	21. About time

Barbossa let go of Jack and the little monkey rushed through the broken mast into the clamour of the fight aboard the _Interceptor_. Nobody from the enemy ship had dared board the _Pearl_ , so he stood there, smiling, waiting for the moment when he could get his hands again on the stolen medallion. He trusted the monkey more that most of his men, so he wasn’t too worried. Besides, the _Pearl_ ’s crew was undefeatable. Literally unkillable.

He had seen you be the first one to board the _Interceptor_. You loved fighting and were damn good at it, so even though he disliked that you had acted on your own before he had issued any commands, he hadn’t acted against you. You were the most headstrong person he had ever known and the faces of utter fear that you had provoked amongst Sparrow’s rogue crew had been well worth it. Not that he’d ever admit it.

The _Interceptor_ went up in flames as his cannons blasted explosion over explosion. There was no escape from them.

“Will! Will!!”

He recognised Elizabeth Turner’s – no, not Turner, whatever other surname she had – screams and descended to the main deck to see her dragged by Koehler and Twigg onto the _Pearl_. She kicked and stamped and almost bit the men’s arms off and kept turning back to the _Interceptor_.

“We found ‘er, cap’n”.

“Will!”, she kept shouting.

“Where’s the medallion?”. He was done with pleasantries and noticed that her neck was naked. No sign of any gold necklace there. Koehler and Twigg lost their smile immediately. They had obviously not even entertained the notion that she may not have it anymore. The rest of the surviving crew of the _Interceptor_ slowly made its way onto the _Pearl_ , a few scruffy men who looked both scared and baffled.

“Where’s the medallion??”, Barbossa screamed.

“We thought… Doesn’t she have it?”

“You idiots!! Go search for it!”

“But cap’n, we can’t… The gunpowder…”

“What gunpowder, you halfwit dogs?”

Of course they’d set a timed explosion to destroy the rest of the _Interceptor_ without even checking whether the girl had the medallion or not. Pintel and Ragetti had rounded up the crew and tied them to the mast of the _Pearl_ and were sternly advising against the use of the world parlay unless they desired to lose a body part, and looking around him Barbossa suddenly realised something.

“Where’s Meridith?”

Nobody answered and Barbossa couldn’t supress a shiver down his spine.

“ _Where is Meridith_ ”.

“She went… she went to the find Bootstrap’s son to the _Interceptor_ , cap’n, but she isn’t back yet”, answered Ragetti, timidly.

“And where is Bootstrap’s son?”

“Will!”, screamed Elizabeth one last time, and as she finally freed herself from the ropes that held her tied to the mast and ran to the handrail, the _Interceptor_ exploded and Barbossa felt something crack inside him.

The ship went up in flames and exploded once, twice, thrice, until all that was left were fragments of a burning shell that snapped and sank with everything that was left inside of it. Or everyone.

Barbossa held his breath. You couldn’t die, it was the whole basis upon which you’d built your relationship, so _why_ was he feeling like his heart had been wrenched out and his lungs were on fire? He sluggishly walked to the handrail, where Elizabeth was being restrained again, and stood there, watching the remains of the _Interceptor_ disappear under the waves, and he gripped the wooden rail so hard his knuckles went white.

“Captain, the medallion…!”

“How _stupid_ are you people?”

That voice. It couldn’t be.

But of course it could.

Barbossa turned on his heel, fearing that it might have all been an illusion, a trick of his mind, and that you’d still be blasted to bits, slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean, parted from him forever after those harsh words that were said in the heat of the moment.

But there you were.

Hair singed, clothes soaked and dripping, hanging from the shroud with the medallion on one hand and an unconscious William Turner in the other and a facial expression that promised hell on earth.

“Beto!”, shouted Koehler, walking up to you, but you were fasted and vaulted from the handrail, dropping Turner and spinning a kick right into the pirate’s face. Koehler yelled in pan and tripped, but it was not enough to assuage you. You’d keelhaul the lot of them if you got the chance.

“You motherfuckers! Come’re, Twigg, don’t think you’re getting off lightly”, you said as Koehler’s companion tried to disappear among the crew. “Let me shove an explosive up your ass, see how you like that”.

“We didn’t know you were down there!”

“You didn’t even check!! You’re lucky I don’t go down easily, huh? Or these two beauties”, you said, pointing at Turner and at the medallion that shone on your hand, “would’ve ended up directly in the Locker and you’d be cursed forever”.

And then you followed the baffled looks of the rest of the crew, who just stood there, gaping to and fro like fish out the water, and found Barbossa staring at you, frozen, an unreadable expression on his face. Even the crew of the _Interceptor_ went silent when your gazes met.

Barbossa walked up to you and you half expected him to yell at you or to try to strike you for having acted on your own without any regard for his commands, but you stood your ground.

What you _didn’t_ expect, however, was for him to grab you by your hips, draw you against him hard and kiss you.

For a split second you froze, thinking that maybe after all you _had_ died, or that you were somehow completely misunderstanding the situation, and then his fingers came to rest on your nape and on your burned hair and you _felt_ him and knew that everything was finally clicking into place.

“Bloody hell”, you said, breaking away from his lips for a split second, and smiled wickedly, “about time you finally made up your mind”, and fiercely kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've enjoyed this one 🌝  
> Thanks for reading and please comment if you're liking it so far! :)


	22. Or not

It was slightly frustrating how little you could bear to stand wet clothes, considering you were not only a pirate, but also the First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_ , a ship made out of mollusc shells and which operated mainly underwater. But there was a sense of helplessness at the cold of your soaked shirt and trousers sticking against your skin and you half hoped that Barbossa would have another of those suspicious velvet dresses for you to wear.

He had sent the crew of the _Interceptor_ plus Jack and Elizabeth to the holds and made sure that Will Turner had been properly secured and would in no way be able to escape, and after giving Bo’sun a few hushed instructions to which the bronzed giant had summarily nodded to, he had dragged you into his cabin without further ado. A few of the windows had been smashed during the battle and the main table had been overturned, but the damage wasn’t too bad. Surprisingly enough, the bookcases had been totally spared.

You were still reeling from the kiss on the main deck, to be honest. You had managed to maintain a front of control and coolness, but your knees were shaking and there was a twist in your guts that was the closest thing you’d ever had to a heartbeat that could leap out of your chest. You heard the click of the door closing behind you and turned to find him with his back to the door and his gaze on the floor.

“Don’t do that again”.

“Do what”.

He raised his eyes and pinned them on you. You knew how blue they were, but this time it felt different. Very different.

“Go on your own and nearly get killed”.

You chuckled, knowing that it was taking him everything he had to say that out loud, but you wanted to try and push him further.

“Oh, captain, I thought we’d established by now that that’s one of my favourite hobbies. How could I go without it! Why, were you worried about me?”

He grunted, but you weren’t going to let it slip easily. You walked up to him with a swagger and bent your neck sideways so that your face was almost under his. He was still looking at the floor.

“Were you?”

He moved away from you, but you could see some hesitation. It wasn’t like last time, when he had jumped away like a scared animal. This time there was a struggle. There was something that he was trying to say, but he hadn’t found the words for it yet. But when they finally came out, it was like a dam bursting open, unstoppable.

“Do you think you can just come into my life like a bull in a china shop, turn everything upside down and then just… get yourself killed? Disappear, like nothing had ever happened?”

You were stunned. You hadn’t expected such an outburst, but he was looking at you, for the first time ever, earnestly.

“You know I can’t be killed…”

“That’s not the point! The point is I’m spending more time lately thinking about you and about what you say and what you don’t say and what you do or don’t do than about the bloody gold and my bloody ship! And that’s a problem!”

“Is it?”

He stopped to breathe in and found you on the opposite side of the overturned table. Your hands were clutching the wooden surface, a trick you had learnt a long time ago to hide your trembling, and your hair was still slick with water, although it had begun to dry. His eyes went down to your throat and stayed there, and you realised he was staring at the scar that opened on one side of your neck, where half a year ago his knife had punctured your skin.

Your question hung in the air. His lips trembled and he started circling the table, approaching you, until you stood face to face. You would’ve felt the blood rush through your veins at his closeness if you’d had a pulse to begin with, but there was a tightness to your body that seemed dangerously similar. Barbossa raised his hand and took you by the chin, tilting it up until you were staring him in the eye, and you melted. His voice was nothing but a whisper.

“You are the biggest problem I’ve even encountered in my whole cursed life, Meridith Jones”, and kissed you.

The first kiss had been hungry, overpowering, as if Barbossa was releasing the desire he had been holding back until then, with his hands clutching at you as if he were afraid you’d vanish into thin air.

This was different.

It was slow, careful, even tender, which was something you’d never even imagined he’d be capable of being. His lips felt soft on yours and his hands cupped your cheeks. You put your arms around his neck, chucking away his hat with one swift motion, and he chuckled, so close to you that you heard a heart you didn’t have thumping in your ears. He kissed you again and his hands went lower, exploring your hips, bringing you closer and closer to him, until you were pressed against his chest and couldn’t think about anything else but how much you _wanted_ him.

You opened your mouth to let him in, and he answered in kind. The kiss deepened, taking your mind with it, and when his lips broke away from yours your groaned in protest, only to feel him again tracing the silhouette of your jaw and of your neck with his mouth, ending up in the scar that he himself had given you. You moaned at the contact of his lips with your skin and he stiffened against you. You buried your fingers in his back, gripping his jacket, and groaned his name.

“Hector…”

He straightened up and kissed you again, but then, to your surprise and horror, he tore away from you and stepped back. You stared at him, your jaw almost dropping to the floor.

“You have to be kidding me. What the hell’s wrong _now_??”

“I think it’s better that we stop before things get… more heated”.

“ _More_? What… Why??”

“Because”, and this time he didn’t look away, “I’m still cursed and my body doesn’t… _work_ like it should, and one thing I know, my dear miss Jones, is that when I make love to you I will do it as you deserve it to be done”.

You swallowed, feeling heat and an excitement pounding in your core, and Barbossa smiled roguishly at you.

“The first thing I’ll do when the curse is lifted is eat a barrel full of apples, and after that”, his hands held tight to your hips, “I’ll make love to you, all night long, until the only thing in your mouth is my name”.

“I hope it won’t be the _only_ thing in my mouth”, you smiled back, and he roared with laughter and kissed you one last time before releasing you and leaving the cabin with a crooked smile.

You looked down at your trembling legs and had to quickly pull out a chair from under the table before you crumpled to the floor. You were feeling _things_ and didn’t know whether to be appreciative that he had had the self-restraint not to do anything with you until he was sure that you’d both enjoy it or whether to go out and kill him because he had left a job _clearly_ unfinished.

You looked down at your crotch and pouted.

“Well, well. What do I do now with _this_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me, I'm sure Beto does more than enough 🤭 I promise we'll get to the sexy stuff... eventually!  
> Thanks for reading!!


	23. The Black Spot

You hadn’t really been down into the holding cells in the time you had spent aboard the _Pearl_ , given that Barbossa didn’t take prisoners. Just like the _Flying Dutchman_ , the _Black Pearl_ was merciless and precise with its targets: it arrived, it looted and it left, no loose ends dangling around. There was a certain ruthless beauty to it that you couldn’t help but admire, especially since the few times that there were loose ends they looked like _this_.

Will Turner was being kept in another room, so the only familiar faces in the three cells of the _Pearl_ were those of Elizabeth, who was looking at you as if you had just gutted her pet hamster, and Jack Sparrow, who was comfortably lounging on the floor of the brig, without a care in the world. The rest of the men came in various shapes and sizes: the one who seemed to command more respect than the rest was a middle-aged fellow with amazing whiskers and rosy cheeks that suggested no mean degree of acquaintance with various sorts of drinks and spirits. There was a bearded old man with a parrot, a dark-skinned woman, a bald dwarf (bold choice for a pirate crew) and a few other raggedy-looking folks. Not many, though – you supposed most of them had been killed in the attack. A few of them by your sword, likely.

“You said you’d help me!”, spat Elizabeth as you approached her cell. You looked at her over your shoulder and shrugged.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

She swore at you with a viciousness you hadn’t imagined a prim English girl could have possessed, but you ignored it. She wasn’t the one you were looking for.

Jack Sparrow cocked his eyebrows at you when you entered his cage and crouched in front of him. He was sunburnt from many years at sea and had more tattoos on him than any man you’d met, no doubt representing many fascinating stories. You expected no less from the man who, at fifteen, had bargained with Davy Jones and convinced him to raise his ship from the depths. He smiled at you, showing several golden teeth, and looked so smug and sure of himself that you wondered whether it was you questioning him or the other way round.

“If it isn’t the mysterious seer”, he greeted you, sitting up. “How can I help you, my dear? Are you going to guess things about me too?”

“I know everything I need to know about you, Jack Sparrow. I’ve been searching for you for quite some time now, truth be told”.

“Really?” He made a face. “Sorry, my love, but you’re not really my type. Too much muscle, too much… Barbossa. Not interested”.

“Your loss, I suppose, but I’m not here because of that. You see, you have a debt to settle with my father”.

You could almost see the gears turning in his mind, trying to make sense of your words. Your father? Was this some kind of woman trouble he had got into but couldn’t remember?

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”, he asked, befuddled. You smiled.

“Meridith Jones”.

“Ah”.

“Does that surname sound familiar?”

“Not really, noOH”.

“Finally getting there, are we?”

He looked at you as if you had green skin or two heads, and you couldn’t really blame him. His lip curved upwards and he scanned the room, but there was no escaping you. You leaned into him in a more confidential tone, although your body language couldn’t be clearer: you had the upper hand, and he was done.

“You see, Sparrow, your soul is long overdue aboard the _Dutchman_ , and my father is _so_ looking forward to have you join the crew. Your time has run out, mate”.

“Did he send you?”

“With a little gift”, you nodded, and took his hand by force, pushing your palm against his. He made a little hissing noise but it was too late. “Lovely meeting you, Captain Sparrow. I’ll see you soon on the _Dutchman_ ”.

You got up and made for the door of the cell. Across the room, the rest of the crew of the _Interceptor_ were crammed around the bars of their cell, straining to hear your conversation, rather unsuccessfully. Sparrow looked in horror at the palm of his hand, where a bulbous black spot was growing, eating up his skin like a cursed maelstrom that destined its bearer to the murky depths of the Locker.

You waved at him one last time with a little shit-eating grin and walked back up into the sun. On deck, Barbossa was at the helm, looking at the horizon through his spyglass. It was a long device, would it be a projection on anything else, you wondered?

“How about we keep Elizabeth?”

Barbossa stared at you, raising one eyebrow. He was facing a strand of land, some hundred metres away from the _Pearl_ , with a few palm trees and rocky outcrops. Barbossa had told you of his idea of stranding Jack in the exact same island as ten years ago, and you could only laugh at how deliciously twisted it was. However, he also intended to leave Elizabeth with him, something which didn’t sit very well with you due to the inevitable fate that awaited Sparrow now that he finally had the spot.

“Why would we want to be doing that?”

“Well, isn’t she the daughter of the governor of Port Royal? Surely she’s more useful to us alive than dead or stranded on an island. Ever heard of ransoms?”

Barbossa considered your proposal. They had more than enough gold in Isla de Muerta, but some more couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Very well, but if she keeps shrieking we’ll cut her tongue off”.

“Deal”.

Sparrow was dragged upstairs and walked up to the plank as if we was just taking a stroll on a charming afternoon, but just before getting on it, as the crew sneered and chanted at him, he turned towards Barbossa and pointed at you.

“I wouldn’t trust her if I were you”.

“Thank you, Jack, but I think I’ll take my chances”, he replied, and pushed him towards the wooden board.

Jack Sparrow’s plop into the water when he was almost thrown off the plank, chasing after his hat and his pistol, once again with a single bullet, was almost therapeutic. You had finally completed your mission: Sparrow had the black spot and was easily locatable by the _Dutchman_ and he was off your hands. Perfect. Everything was going swimmingly.

The sun was descending into the horizon when the Pearl put its rudder to Isla de Muerta, and the island where Jack Sparrow had been marooned a second time disappeared in the shadowy waters. The sunset’s rosy fingers crept up on the main deck, coating everything and everyone with a shiny glimmer, and you felt strangely at ease. At home.

You made towards the door of Barbossa’s cabin, knowing he’d be inside. You were still unsure of where you two stood. Yes, he had admittedly kissed you and things seemed to go well, but he was so unpredictable you never knew what you’d be facing next. Especially now that the curse was about to be lifted and that you’d found Sparrow. On what terms would your relationship stand? Would there still be a place for you on the _Pearl_?

_Oh, Beto, for fuck’s sake, he’s told you he wants to make love to you ‘all night long’. Get a clue._

_Yeah, well, but what if…_

Feeling as stupid as a blushing teenager, you popped your head into the cabin and found Barbossa examining an apple he had in his hand as if it were a piece of art.

“May I?”

“Please”, he pointed at the seat beside him. You spotted another bottle of wine sitting in one corner of the room and picked it up before joining him. With a groan, you uncorked the bottle and drank from it, putting your feet up on the table.

“Comfortable?”

Barbossa was looking at you sideways, a fiendish sparkle in his eye. You returned the half smile.

“Very. You know, I’ve never actually seen where you sleep”.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you making me a dishonest proposal, Miss Jones?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever made anybody an honest one, so yes, probably”.

He laughed heartily but just shook his head.

“If you just wait a little longer, it’ll be worth your while”.

“And after that? What then?”

There was a silence in the room that weighed heavily on you. You weren’t one to beat around the bush, and you’d rather be sure you understood the situation, lest you’d end up like Davy Jones himself. Barbossa hesitated before answering.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to offer, but I’m not that kind of man”.

“I’m not expecting anything”, you said, aware that it wasn’t really true. “I just want to know where we stand with… whatever this is, after the curse is lifted. We’re running out of excuses, Barbossa”.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No. Never”. And you felt those words, deep in your soul. When he replied, his words were hushed, almost shy.

“Then don’t”.

Your heart would’ve skipped a beat if it had been alive. You fought the urge of going up to him and kissing him again or you’d end up in the same mess as before, but you felt happier than you had ever before.

“But”, he added, his tone back to normal, “don’t get ideas. I’m not making any promises, this is not what this is. Agreed?”

“That’s my line, captain”, you replied, returning to your eternal playful attitude. “You’ll have to live up to my expectations on our first encounter, and then I’ll see if I still want to take you up on your offer. Try not to fall in love with me until then”.

This time he was the one who got up and sat on the table, just in front of you, and reached out to you to trace the silhouette of your cheek. You didn’t break eye contact with him.

“Tell me, Meridith, does Jack know anything about you that I don’t?”

“I might have gone belowdecks to scare him a little bit”, you shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“So you still refuse to tell me what you’re hiding”.

“Dear me, captain, I’m just a perfectly normal girl with a perfectly normal life who just happens to be an immortal pirate. What could I possibly be hiding?”

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss you, to which you replied in kind.

“We’ll see about that, Meridith. We’ll see”.


	24. Gold restored and blood repaid

The scene at Isla de Muerta was a complete déjà vu of what had happened with Elizabeth. Once again, you were slightly bothered by the fact that you didn’t really want to let the person who had Barbossa’s knife at their throat die, if only because, in this case, he was the son of one of your subordinate crewmembers; you doubted Turner would take it well if you allowed his only son to have his throat slit by his former mates. Especially if you were kind of involved with the captain who had sent him to his death in the depths. Dear gods, how of earth were gonna begin to explain that back on the _Dutchman_ … Your talent for getting mixed up in messes and messing them up even more was one for the history books.

Barbossa had left Elizabeth and the rest of Sparrow’s crew locked up in the _Pearl_ , outside the bay, with a handful of men to look after the ship, and was now standing on top of the mountain of gold with Will Turner, reciting again his incensed speech about their toils and the freedom they had earned. You were standing next to Pintel and Ragetti, hoping that Barbossa would, as with Elizabeth, decide that just a sliver of blood would be enough, and not a full-blown Aztec human sacrifice, or you would have to intervene, but truth be told you weren’t really willing to risk the relationship you’d painstakingly built with Barbossa for that young man. That certainly made you a horrible person, but then again you were the First Mate of a ship that ferried the souls of the living to the Netherworld, so your morals had always been rather grey to begin with.

And there was also the dread. You’d been feeling a strange anguish since Will had been walked into the cave, as if something wasn’t exactly right. Or rather, as if something was _too_ right, making the feeling completely wrong. It was a sort of vibration, as if the coins themselves knew that the right blood had finally been found and they’d be feasting on it before the night was done. It was a blood-curdling feeling and you wanted no part of it. You tugged the coin that Barbossa had gifted you from your neck and placed it in the chest, and you could’ve almost sworn that it winked at you from its empty sockets.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do once you’re free?”, you asked Pintel and Ragetti, who were standing next to you, trying to get your mind of that dread.

“I’ll buy a good eye”, replied Ragetti. “A proper one, glass, so it doesn’t splinter”.

You were half disgusted by the image his words conjured, half touched by Ragetti’s almost childish demeanour. He could use a new eye, that was true.

“What will you do, Beto? Are you gonna become a permanent member of the crew?”

“No”, you answered too quickly, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone. I’m not leaving, I just… can’t promise you anything”.

“Will you return to your family’s crew? You mentioned something about that”.

“Yes, I did. I might”, and it was then that you realised how complicated a full return to the _Dutchman_ would be. You had tasted another life and couldn’t get enough of it. How could you possibly give that up?

“Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!”

The men chanted, swords and torches raised in unison. Koehler and Twigg were grabbing Turner by the collar to make sure this time there were no mistakes, and it seemed that the boy’s demise was imminent and unavoidable. Barbossa looked at you and you could almost taste the desire in his eyes. The whole cave buzzed with anticipation.

And then Jack Sparrow appeared.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Beg your pardon”, he said, as he moved to the front row. The chanting died and Barbossa looked as if he had just been shot in the gut. Your mind went into a frenzy. What…? How…? It was impossible that he was still alive, impossible! He had the black spot, for god’s sake, the kraken was on his way to him, how could he be alive?

But what was even worse, he knew about you.

_Nononononono_

The pirates chatted and you could see Turner’s and Barbossa’s lips moving, but couldn’t hear their words. How could you have messed up so badly? He should’ve been dead by now, what was he doing here? What the hell was the kraken up to?

“You don’t want to be doing that, mate”.

Sparrow sounded confident enough to make Barbossa doubt his hand.

“And why don’t I want to be doing it?”

“Because, you see, the _HMS Dauntless_ , pride of the Royal Navy, is floating just offshore, waiting for you”.

Barbossa’s irritation turned immediately to interest, and you could see the cogs turning in his mind. That was how Sparrow had managed to escape the island, the bloody British who must’ve been combing the Caribbean for Elizabeth, who after all was the governor’s daughter. You didn’t care about the soldiers; there was very little they could do to either you or the _Pearl_ ’s crew, but you cared about Sparrow’s motivation for returning.

He had climbed the mountain of gold atop which the chest sat, not really minding much his bound friend, and was trying to convince Barbossa to attack them and seize the ship for himself. The makings of his very own fleet.

It was the perfect bait, of course, and you both knew he’d take it. He was nothing if not viciously greedy and the title of ‘Commodore’ would always sound nicer than ‘Captain’. You had half a mind to shoot Sparrow there and then and figure out how to explain it to your father later, but there were too many eyes, too many questions that would be asked.

“Kill the whelp, by all means, but not yet. Wait until you’ve killed Norrington’s men”, he was saying, playing with a handful of coins he had taken from the chest. “Every last one of them”.

He didn’t return the last shining piece of gold to the chest. You’d seen that sleight of hand too many times to be fooled. Why had he kept one of the coins? What was he planning?

“It’s a trap, obviously”, you barged in, unable to stay silent any longer. “I thought we’d all established we can’t trust him”.

“And can we trust you, my love?”, Sparrow replied, a sly smile on his lips.

“Hector, don’t let him trick you. Not again”, you muttered under your breath. His name on your lips for the first time made him hesitate, but the promise of a fleet and gold beyond measure was too tempting.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis now? Promising”, grinned Sparrow.

“I want fifty percent of your plunder”, replied Barbossa to his offer.

“Fifteen”.

“Fourty”.

“Twenty-five. And I’ll buy you a hat. A really big one”.

“We have an accord”, smiled Barbossa, and turned to the men. You knew what was coming now. Those poor bastards outside didn’t stand a chance. “Gents, take a walk!”

And as the pirates left the cove, ready to plunge into the dark waters of Isla de Muerta and attack the British ship from where they least expected, Jack Sparrow turned to you and smiled, and you realised that that had been his plan all along, to divide your forces and end up alone with you and Barbossa.

Your hand went to your gun, ready to put a bullet between his eyes, when he asked the question that changed everything.

“So, has your lady friend ever told you about her family?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I hope you're enjoying it so far! The end of the first part is approaching so fast, I'm very excited!  
> Just wanted to let you know that from now on I'll be uploading a bit more regularly, twice a week, every Tuesday and Friday, so stay tuned! ^^


	25. Journey's end

Barbossa looked at you and you felt the colour drain from your face.

“Sparrow…”, you threatened him, but Barbossa held up his hand to shut you up.

“What do you know about her family?”

“So that’s a ‘no’”.

“What do you know about her?”, he insisted.

His frown had gotten deeper and deeper, just like the shit you were in, and you thrice cursed your luck for not having dealt with Sparrow personally before. Quicker than the eye could see you took out your gun and pointed it towards him.

“You’re a dead man, Sparrow”.

But Sparrow had seen you coming and used one of the pirates that had stayed behind and was standing right next to him as a shield from your bullet, only to steal his sword and throw it to Will Turner, who caught it and pushed away the pirate who was holding him. Barbossa unsheathed his own sword in one fluid motion but didn’t know who to point it at.

You leapt on Sparrow, with a gun in one hand and a blade in the other. You wanted his blood on your steel and by the gods you’d have it, but he was good and stood his ground.

Barbossa decided to leave the three pirates on duty to take care of the rogue Turner – ‘Don’t kill him!’, he yelled at them – and joined you against Sparrow, who seemed very amused at the situation.

“You’ve always been a faithless wretch, Jack”, he spat.

“It seems you know a few of those already”, he replied, parrying one of your thrusts. “Or do you make an exception of Miss Jones?”

“You know nothing of me, Sparrow”, you hissed. You were angry but even worse, you were _scared_ , and that feeling was making you careless. You had to kill him before he told Barbossa or else…

“One would imagine of a woman of such an irreproachable reputation as yourself that whatever she’d told a pirate like me, she would’ve surely told her lover. Paramour. Sweetheart. Anyways. Should I share?”

“What did she tell you!?”

Barbossa was beginning to lose his nerves and Jack kept jumping from stone to stone, mocking you both. You cocked your gun at him, one last chance…

“That she’s Davy Jones’ daughter. Didn’t you know that?”

Your gunshot reverberated in the cave, smoke coming out of the barrel of your gun, and Sparrow stumbled but didn’t collapse. He merely… shrugged. Looked at the hole in his chest with curiosity, and as he moved into a beam of moonlight, his body transformed into a decayed skeleton.

“Interesting…”, he said, triumphally showing you the gold piece he had nicked from the chest. But you had bigger problems to worry about.

You heard a metallic swish coming from behind you and moved just in time to avoid being skewered by Barbossa’s sword. In other circumstances you’d have remembered the first few times you met and laughed, but now you were only filled with dread at the disappointment and shock in his eyes.

“You’re Davy Jones’ daughter?”

“Hector…”

It was confirmation enough for the captain of the _Black Pearl_. His voice shook with disbelief and he leapt at you, snarling.

“You two-faced bitch!”

“I never said I wasn’t! I didn’t… I didn’t want…”

“You didn’t want to get caught, is that it? What was your master plan? To wait until the curse was settled so you could ferry the whole _Pearl_ and its crew to the Locker, into your father’s hands? Is that what were you looking for when you first set foot on the _Pearl_ , huh?”

Your stomach twisted at the accusations. You tried to swallow but your mouth was dry. Everything was going wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

“My father sent me to find Jack Sparrow to settle his debt with him! You were just a means to find him!” Shit, that came out wrong. “I never wanted to hurt anyone on the _Pearl_!”

“It all makes sense now. That’s why you knew so much. That’s why you were cursed too. It was all just a trick, the whole time…”

You deflected every single one of his attacks, but while you’d seen him in action before, fighting for blood, it was the first time you found yourself in front of his blade. Well, not the first one, considering what had happened when he’d stabbed you in the neck, but the feeling was different this time. This time, each and every one of his attacks hurt as if he was tearing you apart with his sword.

“Hector, listen to me!”

“Don’t you dare utter my name! Was it entertaining, keeping us all in the dark, laughing at our expense before sending the kraken after us, using us, using _me?_ I trusted you, Meridith. I trusted you!”

His words were like a slap to your face and for the first time in your life, you wanted to cry. To ugly cry, break down in tears, because there was nothing you could do to fix all the months of lying and of pretending. You had lost his trust in the worst possible way.

He was shaking, sword trembling in his hands, but his voice didn’t waiver at all when he finished breaking your heart.

“You’re a monster”.

Your body went numb. It was as good as a death sentence. You didn’t even realise that Elizabeth had appeared out of nowhere and was knocking out pirates with an oar, or that Will had made two of your former crewmates explode in a rather nasty way and was making his way to the open chest after Jack had tossed him the last remaining coin. The only thing you could feel was Barbossa standing in front of you, looking at you with a disgust that wounded you more than any sword could ever do.

And then you heard the cock of Jack’s gun from the side, just a second before he fired directly on Barbossa as William Turner dropped the last gold piece, smeared in his blood, into the chest. You moved almost instinctively to cover him, barely in time, and the impact of the gunshot hit you squarely in the chest.

You fell back, feeling the bullet rip through your flesh and the gunpowder burn your skin, and crashed on the water and the stones that peppered the floor of the cave. You thought you could feel some of your bones cracking with the blow. Water pooled around you, dark and slick, as if it wanted to soothe your soul, and it almost vibrated with excitement at your downfall, but you didn’t notice it. Your mind was elsewhere, You could see perfectly both Jack and Barbossa staring at you, Jack’s gun still smoking from that single shot that he’d been saving for years for Barbossa. But you’d foiled his master plan. You’d saved Barbossa on an impulse, the man who you hadn’t realised had enough power over you to break your heart into pieces, the man who’d just called you a monster. Barbossa’s lips trembled upon seeing you splayed like a corpse on the floor of the cave, and for a split second time stopped for you.

Then the British stormed in.

“Surrender, in the name of the King!”

Shots were fired, although all the pirates in the cave had been killed except for Jack and Barbossa, and Elizabeth and Will were quickly taken in by Norrington, who had just barely escaped death aboard the _Dauntless_. The _Pearl_ ’s men had grown overconfident, and the unexpected lifting of the curse had meant that most of them had gone down immediately, not realising in time that they were human again, and therefore mortal.

“Don’t move!”

Barbossa was disarmed at gunpoint and put in irons immediately, but when he looked again at the spot where you had fallen, there was nobody there.


	26. A pirate's life for me

The _Dutchman_ emerged from the depths with a thundering crash, breaking through the stormy waters of the Pacific Ocean and bouncing upon the waves, its algae-like sails billowing terribly with the wind. You had been waiting on one of the rocky outcrops that emerged from the sea in that lonely area of the ocean and as soon as the mast and the shrouds were above the surface you jumped on them and saluted the men with a theatrical bow and a wide smile.

“Missed me, boys?”

The crew of the _Dutchman_ cheered as you landed on the main deck and patted you on the back. You held the smile that was plastered on your face, a mask to cover the utter heartbreak that raked your entire body.

“Welcome back, Beto!”

“Finally!”

The rain battered on the main and quarter decks and the mussels and shellfish that lived on the wood opened up and breathed, and as gloomy as your surroundings were, feeling your two feet on the familiar deck of the _Dutchman_ lessened slightly the roaring chasm that you felt within you.

Slightly.

“How’s everything around here? Anything new since I’ve been gone?”

You eyed the two newest recruits, who were drudging around in a daze, still more human than fish, but it was a matter of time until they started to look like the rest of the crew. Luckily, Turner was nowhere to be found. Good. You couldn’t stomach facing him just now.

“Not much”, replied Clanker, scratching his head. “You know how this goes. One hundred years before the mast, if you can avoid dying from boredom before that!”

Everybody burst into laughter and you joined them with a mirth that didn’t reach your eyes.

“I guess that means I’ll have to find some entertainment for your gents soon! I’m sure there are plenty of ships that deserve to go down around here”.

“What, looking for blood again so soon? Wasn’t the captain’s mission enough?”

A pang went through you, as if you had been struck by lightning, and ensured the gaping hole that Sparrow had opened in your chest was covered by your jacket. They didn’t know anything of what had transpired between you and Barbossa, how could they? Nevertheless, it hurt.

“Never enough, my men!”, you said, as cheerfully as you could manage, as you walked away, waving a hand. “I’m gonna report to the captain and I’ll be back, so don’t let me catch you slacking in your duties or you’ll regret it!”

As you made for the cabins in the lower deck, a hand grabbed you by the shoulder and yanked you sideways, and you found yourself staring at Maccus. His eyes, so clear that they were almost grey, pierced you, and you averted his gaze. You tried to free yourself but he wasn’t having it.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You might’ve fooled them, Beto, but not me. I know you and I know something’s wrong. You don’t sound like yerself”.

“Oh, because you know so much about me!”, you confronted him, teeth bared.

“Actually, yes! I’ve known you all your life and there’s been something wrong ever since you began searching for Sparrow. What is it?”

“Leave me alone, Maccus. If you really care, just leave me alone”.

“He’s hurt you. I knew it. The bastard. We’ll kill him! We’ll find him and kill him!”

“Lay a finger on him and I’ll have the kraken rip your fucking throat out, Maccus. I’m warning you”, you spat.

He didn’t insist, but stared at you with a dejected expression as you returned to your own cabin. Nothing in it had changed in the months that you’d been gone; it was still as you’d last left it. Damp and sombre, as everything in the _Dutchman_ was bound to be, but it was your own private space and right now there wasn’t anything that you needed more than that.

You threw your jacket across the room onto your bed, along with your hat, and collapsed in front of the mirror you had set on one of the empty walls. It was broken, missing two of its corners, and had an elongated crack running through it, but even if it had been intact, your reflection wouldn’t have looked any better.

You were pale, which was worrying considering that you were undead, and looked as if the whole weight of the ocean had fallen right on top of you. Your blouse and waistcoat were ruined, burnt by Sparrow’s gunpowder. Letting your feelings take over, you ripped the two pieces of fabric from your body until it was only your skin and you, and you could see perfectly the hole the bullet had torn over your left breast. The skin was seared, and both muscle and sinew had been shredded apart. If you made an effort, you could see your insides, your body magically beginning to stitch itself back together.

 _You’re a monster_.

Before you’d even realised what you were doing, you’d taken out your dagger and its point was resting upon your breast, ready to plunge into the hole, to rend you open and tear out that bloody heart of yours that was dead but still hurt like hell.

All it would take would be a little shove, a second of pain, and then it could all be over.

It could all be over…

A tentacled hand came to rest over your own, preventing the blade from going in any deeper. Softly, as if you were an animal that he was afraid of scaring away, Davy Jones pushed the dagger away from you until it fell from your hand, clattering on the floor. You stared at his reflection in the mirror, unable to turn and face him directly. He looked unbearably sad.

“You promised you wouldn’t end up like me”.

“I found Sparrow”. Your voice began to break.

“I know”.

“I fucked up”.

“I know”.

The dam that had been holding your feelings back broke with a single, deafening crack and you were flooded with tears and fell on Davy Jones’ arms sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. He held you in silence, knowing that there was nothing he could say at that moment that would make things better. He had experienced that pain himself years ago and knew very well how devastating it could be.

You didn’t tell him anything that night. You just cried, as you had never cried before, until exhaustion took over, and Jones looked after you until morning.

When the sun flooded your cabin, seeping in through the portholes, you woke up feeling renewed. Knackered, but renewed. Your father was gone and only the waves could be heard, crashing against the hull of your ship. You stayed in bed for a bit longer, staring at the ceiling, until you gathered the energy to get up and face the crew. The hole in your chest was still there, but smaller than the day before. It would be gone in a couple of days, leaving only an ugly scar to remind you of how dreadfully you’d failed in Isla de Muerta.

You got dressed, making a mental note to buy new clothes as soon as you could, and emerged.

The gloominess that had impregnated everything the night before was gone, replaced by the warm rays of the sun and the fresh morning breeze. You inspired, deeply, letting your lungs feel with air that they didn’t need, and finally, _finally_ , you felt steady again.

“Chief”, saluted the men, and you returned the greeting with a nod as you walked up the stairs to the helm, without the slightest trace of hesitation in your step. The wooden handles felt solid against your palms, and the sight of the whole ship, _your_ ship, spreading out at your feet, filled you with strength. It wasn’t the _Pearl_ , and its loss grieved you, but your life couldn’t stop there. There were too many good memories that you wanted to treasure, too many stored in a heart that you’d never cut out.

You’d gone on for far too long without facing the consequences of your actions, thinking yourself unaccountable to anybody but destiny, and destiny had finally caught up with you.

You’d fucked up, but you and Barbossa were both alive, ironically enough, so you still had another shot. Another chance to make things right.

You would learn from your mistakes and you would stand up on your two feet again. It wasn’t in your nature to cry and give up. You’d fought your away into the highest ranks of the _Dutchman_ , you’d fought your way into the _Pearl_ , and by the gods you’d fight your way back into Barbossa’s life.

“Hoist the mizzen, all hand hoy! Let’s get us sailing, boys!”, you screamed, the feathers of your hat teetering in the wind, and smiled. You instinctively raised your hand to your neck, where the comforting weight of the coin had been until yesterday, but your fingers closed on empty air.

 _This way we’ll always find each other_.

You didn’t have the gold anymore, but who needed those damned coins anyway?

‘We’ll find each other, Hector Barbossa’, you thought. ‘You bet we’ll find each other again’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments and support, it really means the world to me to see that you're loving the story and Beto so much, so thank you!! You make me so excited to keep on writing and taking you to new places with Barbossa and our Miss Jones. This is the end of the first part, and the second one begins next week! There will be a very angry Papa Jones and, I swear, some smut at some point, so keep on reading!  
> You're the best <333


	27. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the second part! From here on, the chapters will be slightly longer. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

The rain beat down on Port Royal, soaking it to the bone. There was something about the downpour, something about the way it veiled the town with a mist full of sadness and weariness, as if the heavens themselves could see what was coming on the horizon. It was dreary, despite how happy a day it should’ve been, and the broken wedding flowers and overflowing teacups only made it worse when William Turner and Elizabeth Swann were put in irons by His Majesty’s Service.

Governor Swann tried to protest, to defend his daughter, but it was all in vain. They were both – plus the absent James Norrington – accused of abetting the escape of one Jack Sparrow, who had been sentenced to die in the gallows a year previously but had almost miraculously escaped _in extremis_ thanks to the couple. The incident, by means of the Governor’s influence, had almost faded into obscurity since then and life had gone on.

But destiny has a funny way of reminding people of their past and of conversations they almost thought forgotten, and Will Turner began to suspect something was afoot when a day later he was abruptly taken out of the cell he had been thrown in, next to his fiancée, and dragged to what had been up until then the Governor’s office. The men who had less-than-gently guided him there didn’t even deign to look at him, but flanked him proudly, making him seem even shabbier in his fancy wedding suit, which had been stained beyond recognition in the dungeons.

“Please come in, Mr. Turner. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you”.

Sitting behind the desk as if he owned the place and wearing a desultory expression on his frog-like face was a short, sour-looking man, which Will suspected he wouldn’t like very much at all. He was wearing clothes that not only were probably very expensive, but that made sure you thought they were too, as well as a pristine white wig that marked him as an important member of the political elite. He wasn’t making an effort to be friendly, that much was clear.

“Lord Cutler Beckett, Representative of His Majesty the King and Director of the East India Trading Company in the Caribbean. An old friend of your fiancée’s family”.

“What do you want from me?”, asked Will, curtly. Becket raised his eyebrows.

“Not one for small talk, I see. Very well, let’s cut to the chase”.

Beckett got up from his seat and started walking around the room, carefully choosing his words before telling Will more than he wanted him to know. With his back to them, on one of the chamber’s walls, a very concentrated fellow was painting the largest map Will had ever seen. The whole known world – for there were very few uncharted lands left, all the magic of the world trampled under the hegemony of the great European empires – was there for him to see, and Beckett noticed him staring at the chart.

“Impressive, is it not? You can imagine how complicated it is to keep an empire like that up and running – keeping the peace in His Majesty’s territories. That is exactly why I am going to need your assistance, Mr. Turner”.

“I fail to see how I can be of any help to someone like you”.

“There are two things I need you to do for me. Pray tell, does the name Meridith Jones ring any bells?”

It rang a few bells and more than one alarm. Oh, he remembered Meridith Jones. He remembered her _well_. She had been one of the many nightmares he had had to face during his struggle with the _Black Pearl_ , but she had turned out to be something much stranger and darker than the cursed pirates from the _Pearl_. He still had trouble believing what Jack had said in the cave of Isla de Muerta about her, but it must be true. Even though she had been fatally wounded by Jack, her body had been nowhere to be found when Norrington arrived to sweep the place, and to this date nobody had caught even the slightest whiff of her.

But there was something else that he hadn’t told anybody that had made Meridith Jones cling to his mind all this time…

“Maybe. Why?”

“She was involved with all that ugly business with Jack Sparrow and the _Black Pearl_ last year, was she not?” Beckett walked up to the balustrade that oversaw Port Royal’s harbour, as the sun set in the horizon, and signalled Will to join him. His voice was hushed as he continued speaking. “It has come to my knowledge that she possesses certain… abilities, so to speak, that would be extremely beneficial for the Company”.

“You plan to use her to your advantage? How?”

“That is none of your business, Mr. Turner. There is one thing only that I need of you, and that is to find her and bring her here to me”. As he said this, his hand went to the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out two sealed letters within a leather envelope. “Letters of Marque, signed by the King. With your and Elizabeth Swann’s names on them. You would want to save your beloved from the hangman’s noose, wouldn’t you?”

Will considered what Beckett was offering him. Whatever the man intended to do with Meridith would be useless, Will knew. She was untameable and would never surrender to the Trading Company. She’d take them all down with her before she did. It was a madman’s plan, but if it would save Elizabeth…

“How am I supposed to find her? If she really is… what you believe she is, finding her is well beyond my ability, Lord Beckett.”

“Ah, well, that’s where your second task comes into play. Find Jack Sparrow and his compass, Mr. Turner. You will find that the compass can be more useful than one would expect at first sight. Oh, and feel free to kill Sparrow while you are at it, and then bring me the artifact too. Sparrow has long been a thorn at my side. Do this for me and your live and Miss Swann’s will be spared”.

“Do you swear that?”

“That is not a question that a man in your situation gets to ask me, Mr. Turner. Do we have an agreement?”

Will didn’t even have to think about it.

“We do”, and tried to offer his hand to shake to Beckett, but remembered he was still in chains. The Englishman looked him up and down with a dismissive expression and turned his back to him.

“Do not fail or your lady will suffer the consequences”, he warned Will. “Good day”.

And with that, Beckett terminated their meeting. Will was dragged back outside, as unceremoniously as he had been on the way in, and only when the soldiers ensured he was well away from their boss did they free his hands from the irons that bound them. Immediately Will bolted for the dungeons, eager to see Elizabeth and comfort her – not that he could do much for her when she was the one who’d have to stay behind and pay the price of his failure were he not to return.

“Find Meridith? But how? And why?”

Elizabeth was as confused as Will as to Beckett’s motives, although both knew they couldn’t be any good.

“He has told me that Jack’s compass is the key to finding her. I’ll be back, Elizabeth, I swear. I won’t abandon you!”

“I would rather hope you don’t, no! But Will, it’s impossible, you saw what she was like! She’ll never agree to coming here!”

“I have an idea”, he replied, a smile on his lips. Elizabeth gawked at him. She was still wearing her wedding dress, now as sorry looking as Will’s, a painful reminder of what they should’ve been celebrating now if it hadn’t been for Beckett. She had to speak to her future husband through the bars of a prison and their lives were hanging by a thread, dependent on the will of a crazy ghost woman who sailed with the _Flying_ _Dutchman_. It was madness.

“Will! Don’t leave me here!”

“I love you, Elizabeth”.

“Will!”

But he was already rushing up the stairs, hoping that if he was quick enough Beckett wouldn’t have time to discover the ruse he was about to play on him.

Port Royal’s prison, the biggest hold for criminals in the island, stood on a promontory some five miles away from the centre of the city. It was a sombre place which normal people avoided, and with the expansion of the Company in the Caribbean it was beginning to be near bursting with pirates waiting to be hung. Famous for the poor conditions its prisoners were kept in, it made the gaol of Port Royal’s offices look like a luxury inn.

When he told the two giants who guarded the door who he wanted to see, they stared at him with scepticism, but Will insisted.

“I’m here on Lord Beckett’s orders. He has just entrusted me an important mission and I need this man to help me. Ask him if you don’t believe him, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to waste his time repeating orders he’s already issued”.

The two men looked at each other and finally decided that it wasn’t worth risking Beckett’s anger if the boy was right. Will slipped past them, giving thanks for their dimness, and finally found the man he was looking for.

Lying on his back in a single cell, the one luxury he could afford due to his infamous reputation, and with his hands clasped behind his neck, Hector Barbossa didn’t look like the man who had terrorised the whole Caribbean for years on end, who had been cursed and became a living dead, one of the most sought men on those waters. He looked rundown, for that was what a year of prison does to a man, but Will was surprised not to find him as defeated as he expected him to be. Rather, it was like meeting an old panther, a wise predator quietly biding its time until the right occasion to spring onto its unsuspecting prey presented itself.

“Barbossa!”

The pirate lifted his head and grimaced, but got up to face his visitor, one leg extended, the other bent so that he could rest his elbow on it.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Master Turner. What brings you to my humble abode?”, he chuckled.

“I need your help”. There was no sense in delaying.

“And why in the seven hells would I ever want to help you?”

“I need to find Meridith”.

At the mention of that name, Barbossa went very still, and silence fell over the two men. It seemed even the seagulls had stopped theirs cries and Will felt a chill go through his spine. When Barbossa finally spoke again, his voice felt hollow.

“Why?”

“To save Elizabeth’s life. If I bring her to Lord Beckett, he’ll spare us from the gallows”.

“Us? Tell me, am I included in this little pardon of yours?”

“I’m offering you a chance to escape from here. Besides, don’t you want to find her?”

Barbossa hesitated for a second before answering.

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. But you’re the only thing that can secure Meridith’s agreeing to coming here”.

“Ah, so I’m the sacrificial victim in all this. Do you intend to point a dagger at my throat and blackmail her into surrendering to the English?”

“Yes”. Barbossa was clearly surprised by Will’s honestly, but he didn’t have time for gimmicks. “You have a lot to answer for, Barbossa. Don’t think I have forgotten that”.

“It’s _Captain_ Barbossa. Now get me the hell out of here”.

They were long gone when Beckett was informed that, apparently at his behest, Hector Barbossa had been freed from prison by a certain William Turner, and his whereabouts were unknown at the moment. Initially he cursed his luck and Weatherby Swann’s vexing slowness to do his job, which had resulted in Barbossa spending a year in prison instead of being executed right after Sparrow, but then he reconsidered. Barbossa was a casualty he was willing to accept if it got him the mysterious First Mate of the _Dutchman_ and, consequently, control of the ship and of its monstrous pet. And if he also managed to get his hands on Sparrow’s compass… There would always be time to get Turner and Barbossa out of the way.

The girl came first.


	28. Tying up loose ends

“You were very fast to accept my offer”, Will commented as they made port. Barbossa was sitting next to him on one of the benches of the frigate they had boarded to escape Port Royal, and they made their way out of the boat and into the busy streets of the island.

“I had been waiting for a year to find a way of escaping that prison. I’m not stupid enough to refuse one that happily comes my way just because of my pride”.

“You have also not tried to kill me yet”.

“You’re comfortable to travel with. You do all the work, which is very convenient for me”, he laughed. “Just like your father”.

Will stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Barbossa, his eyes half-closed with hostility.

“Don’t mention my father or I _will_ kill you, Barbossa”.

“You can try. But tell me”, he asked as they prowled the streets, asking after Jack Sparrow and the _Pearl_ , a search which was proving to be more complicated than they had expected, for each person told them wildly different stories and pointed in opposite directions, and both men were beginning to lose their patience. “Why did you really agree to find Meridith?”

“You know why, to save…”

“To save Elizabeth, yes, that is the official story. But you can’t deceive me, boy. There’s something else, there always is”.

Will waved away a man who was trying to sell them some fried fish on a stick and checked whether anyone was within earshot of their conversation before replying.

“That time in the _Interceptor_ … When we fought to get the medallion…”

“Yes”. Barbossa remembered it well. His now living heart still clenched when he thought of the way the wood had creaked upon exploding, how the ship had sunk to the depths while you were still inside, and of the way your salty lips had tasted when he had finally dared take you in his arms.

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts back.

“She said I looked nothing like my father, and when I asked whether she knew him, she replied that she _knows_ him, present tense. I didn’t understand it then, but when Jack said that she was Davy Jones’ daughter… It got me thinking. Jack told me what you did to my father, how you tied a cannonball to his feet and sent him to the depths. But what if he didn’t die? What if he was found by the _Dutchman_ and is aboard the ship?”

“Those are a lot of ‘if’s, son”.

“I need to know. If there’s the slightest chance that my father is still alive…”

“Your father is gone, Turner. It’s about time you accept that”. Barbossa sat down on one of the stone benches that dotted the harbour, under the shadow of a palm tree. Being alive was great, but sweat was one inconvenience he hadn’t missed at all. “Even if he did survive drowning, anyone who enters the _Dutchman_ ’s service is as good as dead. Or haven’t you heard the tales?”

“The tales don’t mention any daughter of Davy Jones”, he retorted. “The tales can be wrong. Or are you too giving up on Meridith? Huh? Why did _you_ agree on coming, Barbossa?”

Barbossa shuffled uncomfortably and kept on walking, hoping to find some kind of lead for Jack and the _Pearl_. But mostly he hoped to avoid any further conversation about his motives with Will.

He had nothing to say to that whippersnapper about his reasons for accepting his offer. As he had told him, he had been looking to escape Port Royal’s prison for months, and it had been too tempting a chance. Plus, he got to trail Jack and the _Pearl_ , hopefully put a bullet through the eyes of the former and regain control of the latter. How he missed his ship…

And then there was the matter of you. Meridith Jones. Davy Jones’ daughter.

The first few days in the prison, after Jack had escaped and his execution seemed to be getting postponed indefinitely, he kept cursing himself about not have noticing before. Jones was a common enough surname to make it unremarkable, so little wonder that nobody had clocked you before for it. But him… For god’s sake, you had _told_ him that you had family in another crew and that you were undead. You might as well have slapped him with all the evidence and still he would’ve been blind to the truth.

He understood now all the secrecy, your refusal to open up about where you came from, but what did he expect? Would he have welcomed you with open arms had he known the truth from the beginning?

But at the beginning… You’d been stalking the _Pearl_ to find Jack. You knew he wasn’t aboard. Then why had you kept returning? Why, when it was clearly unnecessary? He thought you’d used him to get to Jack but… had you?

Was there a possibility, small as it might be, that you hadn’t stayed for Jack? For your mission for the _Dutchman_? That you had stayed for him?

That thought was eating him alive.

You’d shown him your true self, but you hadn’t trusted him. Not entirely. He’d seen the conflict in your eyes when he pressed you about your past. You weren’t an easy code to crack, despite having spent many long hours of the past year brooding on it. You’d lied to him, but you’d also saved his life. You’d taken Jack’s last shot, meant for him, and borne the brunt of the impact. Maybe it meant something, that he was still alive when all the forces of the universe seemed to be conspiring to take him down at every turn.

He had to find you.

He had to speak to you.

And then maybe he’d manage to put order in the turmoil that had been raging inside him all this time. Maybe when he saw you he’d know.

Deep down, dear reader, Barbossa already knew, but life’s not east for a pirate, ya know?


	29. How about this

The Caribbean was indeed a lovely place for romantic holidaymaking. A little less so if you were doing your travelling accompanied by the violent pirate who’d murdered your father and nearly sliced your throat or by the whelp who’d foiled your freedom of a curse and had you thrown into jail. Especially less so if the search you were both conducting wasn’t being fruitful at all. After a week of travelling together looking for Sparrow and avoiding Beckett’s men at all costs, the two men were a hair’s breadth away from tearing out each other’s throats. Will had a pretty good idea of how well Beckett must have taken his freeing Barbossa from gaol so he wasn’t taking any chances.

The ex-captain of the _Black Pearl_ was cunning and devious, which suited them just fine most of the time, but he was a terrible liar. Absolutely terrible. Small wonder that you had conned him as much as you’d wanted. Luckily for them two, Jack Sparrow was notorious everywhere he went and it wasn’t complicated to get a heading. Or two. Or three.

What was hard was telling the truth from the fiction when it came to Jack and the _Pearl_ , and both Will and Barbossa were pretty sure the man himself strove to make certain they felt this way. Apparently, he had travelled all over the place, hell-bent on finding _something_ , and some even made him as far away as Singapore and Taiwan, but that seemed rather unlikely given his poor relationship with its Pirate Lord, Sao Feng. The most recent sighting put him near an island overrun by wilderness and, apparently, a native tribe which the local sailors didn’t seem to be very fond of. A Guianan ship that was going to pass near it agreed to give them a ride, but only within a safe distance of the island. They wouldn’t, under any circumstances, disembark with the two men.

Their discomfort wasn’t very promising and neither Will nor Barbossa were particularly happy with the arrangement, but it was all worth it when they finally sighted the dark shape of the _Black Pearl_ against the clear white sands of the island’s beach.

It was careening over to one side, stuck in the beach, and apparently abandoned. When they managed to get on board, after a considerable effort by Barbossa of climbing the ropes that held it to the ground like a monkey, they found it deserted.

“Jack!”, yelled Will, but nobody answered his call. He looked around frantically while the waves crashed on the shore. “Gibbs!!”

“All the better”, said Barbossa, and sat down on the steps that led to the quarter deck. “We just have to wait for the high tide”.

“What?”

Will turned to him, outraged, but the pirate only shrugged.

“I don’t need no Jack Sparrow to sail _my_ ship. Just as good for me that he’s gone”.

“You promised you’d help me find Jack!”

“Just as Beckett promised he’d spare your lady if you helped him, and did you really expect us to keep our word? Young Master Turner, for the son of a pirate and a pirate in the making yourself you’re still as naïve as a suckling babe”.

Will ground his teeth and pointed his gun at Barbossa, but the man only chuckled.

“Shoot me and your chance of negotiating anything with Meridith goes down the drain”.

“You will help me”, said Will, trying to sound as commanding as possible, although Barbossa seemed unmoved. “We need Jack’s compass to find her. And you can’t possibly sail this whole ship on your own”.

“Try me”, he smiled back.

“Bloody pirates”, Will muttered, putting down his weapon again. He needed Barbossa if his plan was to work, but he also needed Jack and he was just about to find out how hard they both intended to make this job for him.

“Look, we need to find Jack to get the compass and afterwards you can settle your affairs with him however you want, I couldn’t care less”.

“Tell you what, how about you go play the hero inside that jungle to see if you can hunt down our common friend and I’ll wait here for you to return”.

“No way”.

“It’s my last offer. If you’re fast enough you might even be back before the tides comes in!”

Barbossa was determined not to move, no matter what, and Will realised that he was going to have to venture the wilderness alone. Grumbling, he put away his gun and started lowering himself back onto the beach. No matter how much he boasted, Barbossa wouldn’t be able to sail the _Pearl_ by himself, and until the tide rose he would be stuck there, which gave Will a few hours at best. He’d have to be fast.

The jungle looked ominous as he entered it, covering entirely the light of the sun with its enormous tree leaves, and weird shadows moved around ahead of him, or maybe he was just imagining things. Sword in hand, Will screwed his courage to the sticking place and pressed ahead.

In the distance, drums boomed.

Barbossa saw them approach from quite a way away, not because he had particularly sharp eyesight but because an army of yelling natives chasing after five or six raggedy pirates was bound to catch anybody’s attention, in the Caribbean or elsewhere.

He clicked his tongue. The tide was just coming in and the ship bobbed gently on the water. Pintel and Ragetti, who had appeared miraculously a short time before and nearly had a heart attack upon finding Barbossa aboard the _Pearl_ , were trying to put everything in order for the ship to raise anchor, but his plan to make away with the _Pearl_ had been foiled by a matter of minutes. Destiny loved playing him.

The men made their way aboard, Gibbs, Cotton, Cotton’s parrot, Marty, Will and finally Jack, who grimaced when noticing Barbossa.

The island disappeared in the distance and the men finally sighed, having escaped being eaten alive by the skin of their teeth. And then Barbossa pointed his gun towards Jack and with a single click of its hammer the whole crew was standing on their toes, guns at the ready, one barrel in Jack’s face, another in Barbossa’s.

“Hello, Jack”.

“Hector!”, he replied, as nonchalantly as you’d expect from Jack Sparrow. “You look very alive. A bit too much for my taste, if I have to be honest”.

“You tried to kill me”.

“No I didn’t”.

Jack’s barrel was still pointing point blank at Barbossa, which made his claim a bit of a moot point, but wasn’t that the pirate way?

“I’ll be taking my ship now”, said Barbossa, and Pintel and Raggeti quivered behind him, unsure whether they would be expected to join their old captain or not, or even whether they _wanted_ to.

“It’s not your ship, mate. It’s never been”.

“We’ll see about that”.

More guns were cocked and it seemed as if blood was about to be spilled and nobody would be none the wiser for it when Will intervened, walking between the two men.

“Everybody calm down! Why don’t we try and talk this out?”

Jack and Barbossa hesitated, considering Will’s words, but then they shrugged.

“Nah, I’m good with guns”, replied Barbossa.

“We don’t have time for this, Elizabeth’s life is on the line”, he defied him.

“Oh, Elizabeth! How is she?”, said Jack. “Is your damsel again in distress? She seems to be making a habit out of it. You should consider locking her up somewhere, just in case”.

Will turned to Jack so vehemently his gun finally stopped pointing towards Barbossa.

“She _is_ locked up! She’s in a prison in Port Royal, waiting for the gallows for having helped _you_!”

“Oh. Sorry”.

“That’s not good enough! Not good enough, Jack. We have to save her!”

“We? You see, sonny, I have some very pressing business to solve. How about we find another island, one without man-eating locals, huh? Like, right now. Mr Gibbs, keep to the shallows, if you please”.

“Jack…”

“Beckett is looking for Meridith Jones”.

The excited chattering of the crew died down to utter silence. They all remembered you, and even Barbossa’s pulse hitched when hearing your name again. Jack looked at Will, a strange gleam in his eyes, urging him to continue.

“He says he’ll let her, and me, go if we bring Meridith to him, to the Company. And he said we’d need your compass to find her”.

“So that’s why you’ve brought him?” Jack pointed towards Barbossa. “To negotiate?”

“Yes”.

He considered again.

“How about this. You”, turning to Will, “want to save, once again, your bonny lass by finding the undead girl, and you”, turning to Barbossa, “I assume, want to find _your_ lying, deceiving and murderous bonny lass. And I, incidentally, want to avoid getting eaten alive by said bonny lass’s father’s pet, so why don’t we find her and you woo her again like I’m sure only you can… Somehow… And we convince her to save both Elizabeth and me. Savvy?”

“It’s madness. She’ll never agree to it”, said Gibbs.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try, won’t we? Unless anybody has a better plan?”

“What about the ship?”, intervened Barbossa, crossing his arms, his pistol still dangling from one of them.

“What about the ship?”

“I’m not going to sail under _your_ authority”.

“I’m the only one who hasn’t committed mutiny yet, mate, so my authority is the only one we’ll be accepting. But just so you don’t think I’m a treacherous weasel like you are, I’m going to be magnanimous and offer you a deal”, Jack said, putting his arm round Barbossa’s shoulders as if they were old friend reminiscing about good old times. “I’m looking for something that can get us control of the _Dutchman_ , and if we get this something… the _Flying Dutchman_ can be yours. The _Dutchman_ and the girl, yours forever as king of the Seven Seas. How’s that sound?”

Barbossa looked sideways at Jack, remembering too vividly how any agreements between the two of them had always gone terribly south in the past.

“So, you leave my ship alone, a sort of truce, and you get the _Dutchman_. Deal?”

It didn’t take him long to agree.

“Deal. But if you really believe I’ll back down from the captaincy until then, you don’t know me at all. Weigh anchor, all hands on deck!”, he bellowed, and the men, although stunned at first, quickly obeyed and scuttled around. “Get ye going, you scurvy-ridden dogs!”

“All hands on deck!”, repeated Jack, waving about his hands, trying not to get overshadowed by the gigantic personality of the disgraced ex-captain of the _Pearl_. “Considering I’m being chased by a giant man-eating squid, I’d suggest either going back to land very quickly or finding your girlfriend as soon as possible”.

“She’s not my girlfriend”, grunted Barbossa. He hated that word, hated the constraining idea it represented, and worst of all, hated that it made him wonder what you were to him, if not that. “And how do you suggest we find her? In case you hadn’t noticed it’s not exactly easy to find the ship that ferries the souls of the dead to the Locker”.

“Ah, but that’s where this little thing comes into play. I think Young Turner mentioned it before”.

Smiling, Jack produced a small compass within a wooden box from his pocket. Barbossa rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Your broken compass?”

“It’s not broken, it just doesn’t point north”.

“Which, in a compass, tends to mean it’s broken”. He crossed his arms. “So if it doesn’t point north, where does it point to?”

“You see, my dear incredulous friend, this little treasure points to what you want most”.

All of a sudden the compass felt heavy on Barbossa’s hand. In one swift motion Jack opened its lid and jumped away, as if to avoid any contamination on his part of the mysterious artifact’s calculations.

The arrow started whirling like crazy and Barbossa found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

It turned and turned, never slowing down, and Barbossa’s heart skipped a beat. What he wanted most? What on earth could that possibly be? Power, money, an armada or his own, that was what he had always wanted. Why would you take up any space amongst those plans? Why was Jack so confident that the compass would point to you? Why was he wishing so hard that it _would_?

As if sensing his internal strife, the arrow stopped dead in its tracks and bobbed slightly before settling definitively towards the east.

“Mr Gibbs, we have a heading! East with the tide!”

“East!”, repeated Sparrow’s First Mate, setting the ship into motion.

Barbossa stared at the arrow on the compass and it stared back, laughing at him, and he thought a strange wind filled the sails of the _Black Pearl_.

“Jack”, he said at last, “why’re ye so sure that this will lead us to her?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say your name out loud. Not yet. Jack was on his way to the helm but stopped and turned with a half-smile.

“Because I’ve never seen you look at anybody the way you looked at her”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, I hope you're liking the second part! I promise our girl Beto will appear again very soon 😁


	30. Old gods, new problems

“So your plan consists in sneaking up on the _Flying Dutchman_ , the vessel that ferries the souls of the dead from one world to the next one, finding Meridith, hoping she won’t directly bite our heads off and eat our hearts, politely negotiating with her how she’s to submit herself to the rule of the English and desist of Jones’ intention of sending the kraken after you and, after that, returning to the _Pearl_ with her?”

Jack nodded.

“Exactly”.

“Do you by any chance see any fissures to your plan?”

“No, why?”

Jack smiled to a frowning Barbossa who feared that if he rolled his eyes back one more time they’d just pop out of his skull through his nape.

“Mate, Meridith is going to be _dying_ to meet you. Relax!”

“That’s exactly what concerns me”.

“As much as I hate to say this”, pointed Gibbs, “Barbossa has a point, Jack. How are we even going to get near the _Dutchman_ without them noticing? It’s madness! And how do you know the girl won’t kill you as soon as she lays eyes on you?”

“You ask too many questions, Mr. Gibbs. When have I failed you before?”

“Don’t make me answer that, Jack”.

The compass had been leading them in a wild goose chase, which had driven everybody crazy except Barbossa. He could picture you so well, travelling from one side of the Caribbean to the other, a born sailor, playing them just as you’d played him almost two years ago. The _Dutchman_ couldn’t be held to the standards of normal physics, so it wasn’t surprising that every few days they’d have to change direction to try and catch up with it. It was comfortingly familiar to him, and with every day that passed he felt the excitement building up in his gut. He dreaded as much as he craved that encounter, but no matter what would happen in the end he knew he couldn’t postpone it any longer.

That day, the compass had taken them through a series of straits into some very rough waters. The sun hadn’t set, but clouds as black as smoke covered up every inch of the sky and the rain battered the main deck of the _Pearl_. It was hard to keep the ship stable, and Barbossa not only had to fight the blows of the waves against the hull but also Jack’s attempts to wrestle the helm from his hands.

“Let go!”

“No, you let go!”

“No, _you_ let go!”

“Do you mind looking where we’re going!?”, screamed Will, seeing the ship narrowly avoid a crag that jutted out of the water.

“Do we actually _know_ where we’re going?”, replied Gibbs, his whiskers sadly pointing downwards, heavily soaked with water. “This bloody thing has been leading us around in circles!”

“We can’t be far now! This place is bleak and wet, ideal for the _Dutchman_!”, said Jack, and, as if his words had conjured the ghost ship from the murky depths of the ocean, the _Flying Dutchman_ emerged from the raging waters, almost bumping the _Pearl_ out of the way.

The whole crew stumbled with the impact and slipped on the sodden boards of the deck, and they barely had time to get back on their feet when the cursed crew of the _Dutchman_ boarded their vessel and put their blades to the sailor’s necks.

Boarded might not be the best word, though. They _emerged_ from the planks, from the mast, from the walls of the cabins, monstrosities more fish than human, laughing coarsely at the horror their appearance provoked upon the unsuspecting pirates of the _Pearl_.

The hunter had become the hunted. Gone were their plans of sneakily getting aboard the _Dutchman_ to speak to Meridith; Jones had caught up with them and they were in deep, _deep_ shit.

A broad fellow with half his face covered by barnacles and mussels and with algae for hair manhandled Barbossa, who had his sword out in the blink of an eye but knew when fighting was futile and didn’t resist. For now. Jack was the only one amongst the crew that didn’t seem completely fazed by the crew of the _Dutchman_ , just inconvenienced and slightly disgusted with the fish smell that now hung over the _Pearl_ , but Barbossa could’ve sworn even he went completely white when the laughing pirates went silent and the boom of a wooden leg rattling against the _Pearl_ ’s deck announced the arrival of the captain.

Davy Jones stared right into Jack Sparrow’s eyes and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t Jack Sparrow”, he said, with the bubbly accent that characterised him so much. Jack turned up the corners of his mouth, more of a grimace than a smile. “Thinking you could ambush _me_? Have you come to finally settle your debt, hm?”

“As a matter of fact, and you’re going to find this funny, no, I have not”, replied Jack, thinking up a plan B as fast as his brain could work. “I was rather hoping to offer you an alternative deal”.

“Your time is up”. Jones narrowed his eyes and brought his face closer to Jack’s. “There’s no ‘alternative’ deal”.

“Where’s Meridith?”

Barbossa’s voice echoed around the ship, cutting even through the sound of the waves breaking against the two vessels. With a snap of his neck, Jones turned towards the man holding the helm, and Barbossa had to muster all his courage not to look away.

“And who might you be?”

“Hector Barbossa”, Jack hurried to explain. “He’s the one who dumped your daughter”.

Davy Jones’s tentacles bristled like crazy and for a few seconds he seemed equally inclined to end Jack as to order Barbossa executed there and then, but Barbossa was too busy failing to spot you in the crowd to be afraid. No, he wasn’t mistaken, you weren’t amongst the crew of the _Dutchman_. Why not? Where were you? Had you intentionally avoided coming aboard the _Pearl_? Jones’s vessel bobbed on the water, right next to the _Pearl_ , its phantasmagorical shape almost hidden by the deluge that fell on all fronts, and he wondered whether you were there, looking at him from the distance.

When his gaze returned to the _Pearl_ , he found Jones’s slimy face inches from his own.

“So you are Hector Barbossa”, he spat. Barbossa didn’t back down and showed his teeth to the captain.

“Where is she?”

There was a dark, fiery emotion in the eyes of Davy Jones, which shone like bottomless pits, and for the first time Barbossa realised that he must have wounded you way deeper than you had him.

“Tell me, Captain Barbossa, do you fear death?”

“Once you’ve faced your deepest fears, nothing can unsettle you anymore”.

“Don’t you dare be smart with me, you miserable wretch! To have the audacity to come here looking for her…”

“Where is she? I demand to speak with her!”

In the flash of an eye, Jones had his sword out and pressed against Barbossa’s throat. The pirate’s Adam’s apple bobbed but his face gave nothing away. Jones growled.

“I should cut out your heart and feed it to the kraken”.

“That seems a very unwise course of action. How would she like that?”

That seemed to stall him for a few seconds, but the fire and the hatred returned to his eyes soon enough.

“A slow and painful death is nothing short of what you deserve, but if that’s not to your liking I might just feed your crew to the kraken and make you watch”.

“How about you keep him instead of me and nobody gets eaten by the kraken?”, offered Jack, raising his voice to make himself heard over the rain and the crashing waves.

“Hah! I wouldn’t want him on my ship, not for all the gold in the world! And one soul is not equal to another, Sparrow. That’s not how this works”.

“Ah, so an exchange is possible, now we’re just haggling”. Jack seemed strangely pleased with himself. “Name your price”.

Barbossa tried to protest, but Davy Jones was already walking towards Jack. You were still nowhere to be seen. All this had been for nothing. You’d decided to pluck him out of your life as if he’d meant nothing to you, not even deigning to see him one last time. A bottomless, pitiless despair crushed him.

“One hundred souls”.

“Am I worth that much? The more you know”.

“One hundred souls, Sparrow, or it’s the Locker for you. And this time you won’t be able to escape the kraken”. His eyes wandered over the trembling crew of the _Pearl_. “But I will be keeping one of your men as collateral. So you don’t go thinking of escaping or one of your unfortunate friends will be cursed for eternity because of you. Do you think you’ll be able to bear that responsibility?”

“Yeah, I’m good”, Sparrow smiled.

“I’ll stay!”

Faster than anyone could’ve imagined, Will volunteered himself for the task. The crews of the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ stared in bewilderment at the young man who so casually had offered himself up like a pig to slaughter. Davy Jones eyed him with suspicion.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“William Turner”.

If the name rang a bell, Jones didn’t show it.

“Very well, then. Don’t forget, Sparrow. Three days”.

Will threw Jack a last meaningful look before he was dragged onto the _Dutchman_ by a moray-headed pirate, which should have alerted Jones that something was going on, something that had prompted Will to leave his fate in the hands of the disreputable Jack Sparrow, had all his attention not been on the man who waited for him, defeated, near the helm.

Just as he passed Barbossa by, he whispered in his ear, making sure that the captain heard him.

“You’ll never see her again”.

Davy Jones disappeared into the sea that was his home and his curse and left Barbossa staring into the distance, at the ship that vanished into the rain.

* * *

You puffed and huffed and swore with such brutality Hell itself must have gone cold upon hearing you. You had been born to sail the seas, to feel the breeze and the salt in your face, not to hack your way through the densest jungle you’d ever stumbled upon in a lost island in the middle of nowhere. A little black spot buzzed next to your ear and you squashed it mercilessly.

You clenched your teeth. Honestly, if a single mosquito decided to land on your skin again…

Right behind you, Maccus appeared after cutting down an especially large plant that had swung down in front of his face. He was as displeased as you, but his angry face was considerably scarier than yours, given the shark teeth and the misshapen skull.

“Are we there yet?”, he yelled. “I’m losing my moisture!”

“What do you think?”, you huffed, slamming another swarm of mosquitoes. “You didn’t have to come, you know!”

“I sure did!”

“Then stop complaining!”

The worst part about being separated from the crew on a gods-forsaken island in the middle of the Pacific was not really knowing the reason why. Sure, the captain had told you all of a sudden that he needed you to go deal with some stuff that had come to his attention, but the timing seemed rather suspicious. He had looked in a hurry that had been until then unknown to him. It almost felt as if he wanted to get you off the ship as soon as possible, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. But at the same time you couldn’t refuse an order from your captain.

And then Maccus had offered to accompany you, to which Jones acquiesced all too quickly, and there you were, the two of you, cutting your way through a jungle that wanted to eat you alive.

“Bloody mosquitoes!”. You swung your machete around, hoping to catch and slice one of those motherfuckers with it, and heard Maccus laughing behind you. You swirled and pointed your blade towards him. “Don’t you dare laugh. It’s awfully convenient that you’re a fish and insects are only interested in me”.

“I’m a fish and you’re dead. We must be a pretty poor dinner for them”.

At that you couldn’t help but laugh, but suddenly you caught a glimpse of something beyond the canopy of leaves that surrounded you.

“Oh my god, finally!”

With a twist of the machete you opened a path through the wilderness and stepped into a beautiful lagoon of clear, glittering waters, that flowed from a fountain that gently burbled into the cavity of the rocks that surrounded it. All around you, as if the jungle behind you was nothing but an illusion, sprouted flowers of every colour and scent, weaving the most beautiful tapestry you’d ever seen.

“Is this it?”

Maccus looked rather disappointed and you pouted.

“Come on, it’s an idyllic landscape, isn’t it? The crystal-clear waters, the rocks, the fragrant flowers… You’re hard to please, aren’t you?”

“When ye told me we were looking for the Fountain of Youth I was expecting something more… _more_ , I guess”.

“We’re not looking for the Fountain, not exactly. You’ll see. But anyway, let’s rest for a bit. The person we’re looking for shouldn’t be far away now, and if we’re lucky, he’ll come to us”.

“He? We’re looking for some _one_?”

You checked your impulse to jump into the beckoning lagoon and feel the coolness of its water on your skin, but you knew better than that. Mermaids roamed those waters and you’d had enough brushes with the ladies of the seas to prefer to leave them to their business. You opted to just sit down on one of the flowery meadows, leaning against one of the rocks. Maccus sat next to you, _quite_ next to you.

“First Mate business”, you grinned at him. He sighed, knowing he’d get no more explanations until the mysterious person arrived.

“I hadn’t heard of this place before”, he commented. “I mean, of course I had heard of Ponce de León and his search for the Fountain, but in all my years on the _Dutchman_ I’d never come across a place like this…”

“This isn’t my first time here”, you replied, absentmindedly. “I came some time ago, out of curiosity. Hector visited it once and it didn’t end well, so I was curious and…”

You fell silent and Maccus stirred uncomfortably next to you. You didn’t like speaking about him. You just didn’t. Davy Jones and Maccus were the only ones who knew something of what had transpired aboard the _Black Pearl_ ; everybody else had just been told that Sparrow had the spot and that the kraken would soon be done with it. You had successfully completed your task; you made sure that was the version everybody heard. Only Jones and Maccus had seen you cry and dry your tears.

But a whole year had passed and you hadn’t dared go looking for him again. The closest you’d been was when you’d sailed to Isla de Muerta, hoping to catch a glimpse of the _Pearl_ , only to find the whole island submerged, claimed by the unforgiving sea, and you felt it was too apt a metaphor for you to withstand the pain. You thought yourself a coward and hated yourself for not having dared to search for him in person, but you couldn’t deal with another rejection like the one he’d dealt you on Isla de Muerta. So far there was nothing you could do to make it up to him, to regain his lost trust. You were still undead. You were still Davy Jones’ daughter.

You were still a monster.

The thought gnawed at you and kept you awake at night, so you’d thrown yourself into the _Dutchman_ ’s service, not even wanting to step on land for the last twelve months. This was the first time you’d been away from the ship in all that time, and only because Jones had insisted on it.

“Beto…”

“Never mind”.

Maccus hand landed on top of yours and squeezed it.

“Forget about him. It’s the best thing you can do”.

“No”.

“Beto, please”.

He was close to you. Very close. The warmth of the sun on that particular day had reheated your bodies and his skin glistened with sweat. You looked away, blushing slightly. He had never pushed his feelings on you, although you both knew what he felt, but ever since you’d returned from the _Pearl_ and had completely shut the crew out from your true feelings, he had made sure he was there to help you back on your feet.

And to help you forget about Barbossa, if he could.

His fingers squeezed yours and his free hand wandered up to your face, cupping your cheek. It was a strange sensation, his slick skin against yours, and you couldn’t say it was unpleasant. Maccus was a great guy and maybe in other circumstances it would’ve worked, but now… it just felt wrong.

He leaned into you, his lips almost touching yours.

Something shifted in the shrubbery behind you and you broke apart with a jump, hands on your weapons, and a short, black-haired kid rushed onto the stone landing, falling onto his knees in front of you and Maccus.

He was panting and trembling and looked closed to tears. Maccus made a move to approach the boy but you stopped him and shook your head.

“Oh my god, I’ve finally managed to find somebody! Thank the…!”

He finally looked up and as he beheld the pair of you with horror, his voice trailed into nothing. You took up your machete, gently bumping it against your back, and greeted him.

“Hey, bitch”.

The kid’s face transformed completely. His innocence and nervousness were gone, replaced by eyes as cold as stone and a furrowed brow distorting his features. He was unnaturally beautiful, as only the inhuman beings that roamed the seas could be. Maccus looked at you, at a loss for words.

“Not you again”, the boy said, sitting down and crossing his legs. “What are you doing here, jade girl?”

“Jade girl?”, asked Maccus, confused.

“I’m glad to see you too”, you replied.

“No you’re not”.

“My captain sends me. You have to stop messing around with his souls, you’re just making life more complicated for us. You know we have boundaries, so don’t overstep yours, savvy?”

The boy wrinkled his nose with distate.

“I dunno what you’re talking about. I haven’t messed with no souls of yours”.

“Don’t lie to me”.

“I’m not. By Hades, I wish I was! I haven’t tasted a single soul in almost ten years now! Nobody comes around here anymore, not with the British snooping all around the place. I’m starving!”

You didn’t like what you were hearing.

“Are you sure ‘bout that? Don’t lie to me, Palaimon, or I’ll make you regret it”.

“I’m sorry, but who the hell is this?”, interrupted Maccus, who had been following the conversation with a growing question mark on his face.

“Melikartes, at your service”, said the boy.

“Palaimon. His name is Palaimon”. You massaged your brow. “Palaimon, meet Maccus, my Second Mate”.

“Mate as in mate or as in _mate_?”, he raised his eyebrows, emphasising the last word. You felt Maccus next to you go as red as a fish could possibly go.

“D’you want me to punch you? ‘Cause I’ll fucking punch you”.

“You punch little boys? Savage. You must have been a good fit for Captain Barbossa”.

Your eyes narrowed into slits and you stopped moving the machete.

“Careful now, Palaimon”.

“I heard he jilted you. Is that true?”

The machete whistled through the air and landed exactly where Palaimon was sitting, except he wasn’t there anymore. He vanished into thin air, leaving you alone in the opening with the lagoon and a faint childish laugh vibrating through the air. Your machete wobbled with a metallic sound, stuck in the ground, until you yanked it free while grinding your teeth together.

“Bastard”.

“What on earth was that!?”

“Never heard of Palaimon? Greek sea god, cursed by Hera, feeds off the souls of stray sailors and pirates that come through here. Fun fact! He can’t swim”.

Ignoring Maccus’ huffs of exasperation, you started your way back to the coast. It was easier this time, since you’d already opened a passage on your way in, so you had time to think.

“So why didn’t he feed on our souls?”

“Hm? Ah, well, that’s because your soul is already engaged elsewhere, with the _Dutchman_ , and my soul… apparently is off limits. Nowhere to be found”.

“You don’t have a soul?”

Maccus stopped and cocked his head, and for some reason you felt very uncomfortable. As if you were speaking of something indecent.

“I do, I just… don’t know where it is. Misplaced, or something of the sort, that’s what he told me last time I saw him. Listen”, you added, eager to change the subject, “he said that he hasn’t taken any souls for the last ten years. The captain sent me to speak to him because apparently he was taking too many souls and was unbalancing his books. Why would the captain lie?”

“Why do you think it was the captain and not Palaimon? He doesn’t seem like the most trustworthy person on earth…”

“Gods are too proud. They can deceive to get what they want, but outright lying… Not their style”.

“Why did he call you ‘jade girl’?”

“Dunno. He decided it sounded funny the first time we met and has stuck with it ever since. Divine humour, I suppose”.

You didn’t say anything else until you reached the shore, but you couldn’t stop thinking about why exactly the captain could have wanted you away from the _Dutchman_. Did he think you needed some fresh air? Bullshit. You were First Mate, your place was aboard the _Dutchman_. What was he planning?

By the time the _Dutchman_ appeared on the horizon night had fallen and the stars dotted the roof of heaven, and you knew immediately something was wrong.

The ship sailed over the water. It didn’t emerge from the depths, with its usual splash and magnificence. Why? What was stopping it from doing so?

“Welcome back, Chief!”

The men saluted you when you and Maccus return aboard, climbing the scale all the way from the water. Angler made a gesture at Maccus but he shook his head and bade him silence. The rest of the men were drudging around the deck, as usual, setting the _Dutchman_ back in motion to take it wherever the captain wished, but there was something different. What…

And then you saw Will Turner, chased by Penrod and Ratlin, working as if he was just another member of the crew.

Too stunned to even move, you just stood there, looking at that ghost from your past who had come back to haunt you on your own ship, until Angler gently tapped you on the shoulder. As if in a daze, you turned towards him, letting your eyelids droop to protect yourself from the light that hung from his forehead.

“Chief, you okay?”

“What the fuck’s he doing here”, you said, pointing towards an oblivious Turner, who hadn’t spotted you yet.

“Sparrow sent him to settle his debt”.

“ _What_ ”, you spat. “Sparrow sent him? All the way out to sea to find us? And why would he settle someone else’s debt?”

“Well, no, not exactly… The captain agreed with Sparrow that he had three days to get him one hundred souls in exchange for his, and we kept the boy as collateral”.

You almost choked.

“Wait, you’re telling me… that you met Sparrow and the _Pearl_? While I was gone?”

“Uh… Yeah”.

“Tell me, Angler”. Your nails were digging into your palms so hard that you might actually reach the bone. “Was Hector Barbossa by any chance aboard the _Pearl_?”

“Uh… Yes, I think he was”.

Something snapped inside you and it was all you could do not to punch a hole through the wall of the officers’ quarters. Angler excused himself with all haste and when you looked up and made for Davy Jones’ cabin, there was a dark, brooding anger burning in your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this is getting interesting!! I hope you're enjoying it! Thanks for reading and do leave a comment! :D  
> Side note: next week I'll update on Monday only, because I'm going away for a few days, but the following week we'll be back on schedule as usual!


	31. Alea iacta est

You were furious. Rabid. How dare he. How _dare_ he. Deciding for you like that! As if you were a child!

Fists so tense your knucklebones went white, teeth grinding against each other with fury, you stalked up to the captain’s cabin, with such decision in your step that the crew of the _Dutchman_ that saw you coming moved aside as fast as they could lest they ended up being the scapegoat for your anger. They’d seen you angry before, but this was different. It was the first time you were oozing wrath like that, and what was more, not only towards a member of your own crew but towards your captain. Your father.

Oh boy, you were pissed off.

You kicked open the door, not even bothering to knock before almost tearing it out of its hinges, and Jones’s organ screeched as he abruptly stopped playing.

“How _dare_ you!!”, you screamed at him.

“Beto…”

“Don’t ‘Beto’ me, you liar! You got me off the _Dutchman_ on purpose! You made me go away and waste my time just so I couldn’t see him? Is that it?”

“Yes, and I’d do it again!”, he confronted you. He was way bigger than you were, broader and scarier, but this time around you were angry enough to tear Hell itself down. “He broke you! You might not have realised it, but I’ve had to see how much you suffered after what he did to you and how long it took you to get back on your feet!”

“Oh, and that gives you the authority to decide on my behalf?”, you hissed. “I’m not a fucking baby anymore! I get to make my own decisions!”

“No, you don’t. Not in my ship, not regarding _him_ ”.

That felt like a slap to the face. You could taste poison filling your mouth.

“Maybe there was a reason after all that Calypso abandoned you”.

You regretted your words too late. The hurt on his face made patent enough how deep your insult had cut him. But you were too strongheaded to give up. Not with this. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you had to make him understand.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I’m… I didn’t mean it”, you tried to apologise.

“I think you did”, he replied, turning away from you. Sitting atop the organ, Calypso’s pendant silently witnessed the whole conversation.

“I… He came for me. He must have! Otherwise why would the _Pearl_ have gone to all the trouble of looking for you?”

“Sparrow wanted to settle his debt. _His_ presence there was only circumstantial”.

“I very much doubt it was”.

“Why do you insist on this fantasy that he wants to be with you again? He rejected you! He called you a monster! What more proof do you want!?”

Jones slammed his human fist against the organ, tearing from it a wailing sound that made your hair stand on edge.

“I deserve a chance to at least speak with him. I deserve closure”.

“I just wanted to protect you”.

“I don’t need your protection”.

There was nothing more to be said. Jones wouldn’t apologise and you wouldn’t back down. What was done was done, and he had taken away from you the one chance of speaking to Barbossa you’d been waiting for over a year.

Before Jones had the chance of replying to you, you left the room, disappointment clutching at your dead heart. Your feet briskly took you to the other side of the ship, but as the rain battered down on you, you slowed down, little by little, until you came to a halt and stopped moving entirely.

You didn’t notice the water, from the sky and the sea, soaking the deck and your clothes, your damp hair sticking to your neck, the wide berth that the men were giving you. All you could think of was how disappointed you were. Your anger had died, and in its stead a terrible melancholy had taken over you.

The worst part of it all was that you understood why Jones had decided to exclude you from the meeting with the _Pearl_. Why he had conspired and kept you in the dark. And you’d used that knowledge against him.

“Beto!”

Maccus came running towards you, and as he approached you grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall.

“Did you know about the _Pearl_?”

“No!”, he choked. “I knew the captain didn’t want you aboard, but I didn’t know why”.

“Swear it”.

“I swear! Let me go!”

Reluctantly you freed him and he massaged his neck, where five finger marks stood out in stark contrast to his light skin.

“For fuck’s sake, Beto”.

“He came for me”.

“You can’t know that”.

“Well, I didn’t get the chance to find out, now did I?”

He backed down; you surpassed him in strength and rank and he didn’t dare confront you openly, but you knew pretty well what he was thinking.

“I failed once, Maccus, _once_ , and you lot seem to be very eager to remind me of it every single day of my life”.

“Beto, I…”

“Whatever. Where’s Turner now?”

“Guns deck, I think”, he replied, nervously. “I saw him before with his father”.

“With his fa…”

A giant, red, beeping alert went off in your head. _Fuck_. Bootstrap didn’t know you’d met his son, much less that you’d been willing to sacrifice him to help the man that had tied a cannonball to his feet and sent him to his death. Ooooh, bollocks. If he found out, through Will no less, he wouldn’t be pleased and the gods knew the last thing you needed right now was a mutiny.

“I hate my life”, you cursed as you speeded to the guns deck, but before you could even begin your search you almost ran over Will Turner, who was coming up from the stairs of the lower levels.

“Meridith!”

“Turner!”

You stared at each other like two startled goldfish, until you managed to speak, yelling over the storm that pounded against the ship.

“What are you doing here?”

“Jack promised Jones one hundred souls in exchange for his, within three days, and I’m the insurance for his return!”

“That’s a big gamble, isn’t it? What, did you do it out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand!”

In the lower level, just barely visible through the hatch, Bootstrap suddenly appeared and threw you a look that couldn’t indicate anything good, but he quickly went about his business.

“Met your father? Pleasant surprise, I guess”.

“Such a coincidence”, Will smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, Turner. As long as you’re in this ship I’m your superior and you’ll do well to do as you’re told”.

“Yes, chief”, he replied mockingly, and you had to bite your lip to avoid doing something stupid. Luckily for both of you, Ratlin approached you yelling.

“Secure the mast tackle, Mr. Turner! Now!!”

Will ran away, as fast as his legs could take him, and you observed him go, slipping on the rotten planks of the deck. He was keeping something from you, that much was clear, and you’d get it out of him if it was the last thing you did.

“He’s been asking questions, Chief”, said Ratlin with a confidential tone.

“What kind of questions?”

“About the captain. About the key”.

“I see. We’ll have to keep Master Turner in check, then. We wouldn’t want him to keep poking his nose in the captain’s business, would we?”

Ratlin chuckled and he followed you to the helm. Jones had decided to keep to his room; a wise decision, as the crew didn’t need to know of your falling out and you didn’t need any help to brave the _Dutchman_ through the storm.

Just as you expected, Turner was soft. A soft, green boy who thought he knew what the pirate life was all about, but oh how wrong he was.

The rain continued and the waves swept over the deck, little droplets of water sticking to your eyelashes, and the ropes that tied the cannons grew more and more slippery, until Turner, too weak for the _Dutchman_ , couldn’t bear the weight of the guns and let one of them fall with a violent thud, damaging the deck and injuring more than one member of the crew who wasn’t fast enough to dodge it in time.

“Haul that weevil to his feet!”, ordered Palifico, who was overseeing the whole operation, after Ratlin whispered something in his ear. “Five lashes will remind you to stay on’em!”

Will resisted, but it was useless. Palifico tied his hands to the mast and ripped his shirt in one clean motion. His naked back glistened with the rain and stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of black and grey that was the _Dutchman_. The only patch of human skin that could be seen aboard the accursed ship, excepting yours, and you felt the men resented him for it.

“No!”, shouted Turner Senior, stopping Jimmy Legs from swinging the lash against his son.

“What, Turner? Impeding me in my duties?”

“I’ll take all the punishment. Spare him”.

“Such fatherly devotion”, you barged in. Everybody looked at you, but you just swaggered until you were next to the bo’sun and took the whip from his hand, offering it to Turner. “Let’s see how long it lasts. Five lashed are owed, Mr. Turner. If you’d be so kind”.

The man stared at you in horror and retreated a few steps.

“No… No, I won’t!”

“Quit whimpering like a spoilt child! The sentence has been passed and your son will feel the sting of the whip, be it by the bo’sun’s hand or your own. Your choice!”

It was no choice at all. Jimmy Legs was a bloodthirsty pirate whose lashing tore flesh from bone. Five lashes from him would leave the boy impeded for weeks. But it was delightful seeing defeat so clearly spelled in both men’s faces. You hadn’t forgotten how Will had dropped the last coin into the chest, just in time to let Jack kill Barbossa. You hadn’t forgotten and you certainly hadn’t forgiven.

Reluctantly, Turner took the whip from your hand, and each lash cracked through the stormy night while you looked on.

The _Dutchman_ was never silent, not really, since the undead rested not, but there were times of lull when things were calmer. More relaxed.

The storm had subsided and so had the frenetic activity aboard the ship, and now only a handful of men lounged on the deck, checking that everything was in order, but not doing much work. Most of them were downstairs anyway, playing cards, napping for the pleasure of it or just chatting, commenting on how brutally Turner had been punished for his oversight while his father looked. It might have been merciless of you, but that was the way of things aboard the Dutchman and they knew it.

You stood at the door to Davy Jones’s cabin, full of doubts. It was ajar and a faint light leaked from the opening, which was strange, since he was very zealous of his privacy and never left his door open. Maybe it was a sign, an invitation for you to come in?

Your knuckles were mere inches away from the wood, just a moment away from knocking gently, but you hesitated. So what then? What would you say? You wouldn’t back down, you were angry and rightly so, but still… You had used the exact words that you’d known would wound him, with lethal precision. Even for a pirate, that hadn’t been right. But would he take the apology as a concession to his point of view? As a surrender of sorts? You couldn’t risk that. You were too proud.

And so your knuckles lingered and finally pulled back, and you left the lonely corridor with only the crashing of the waves accompanying your steps.

The deck was unnaturally quiet, and you saw a cluster of men huddling over at the side, probably playing cards or something like it. You strolled over to the helm, nodding lightly to Ratlin, who saw you pass by, and gripped the stirring wheel as hard as you could, letting all your doubts vanish with it.

The _Dutchman_ rode the waves, tearing them in half, and you enjoyed the sound of the water splashing around the hull and the wind howling through the ripped seaweed-sails. You loved the ship, even if sometimes it drove you crazy, and wouldn’t give it up for anything, but sometimes… Sometimes it just wasn’t enough. All the ‘ifs’ aboard the _Pearl_ that had shattered that day in Isla de Muerta kept returning to your mind and nagging you day after day.

But now, Barbossa was back. Maybe…

A small, almost noiseless ‘plop’ at the stern caught immediately your attention. You knew the _Dutchman_ like the palm of your hand, knew every single one of its sounds and creaks. There were no ‘plops’ in the _Dutchman_. Nothing ‘plopped’ in the _Dutchman_. Something wasn’t right.

As fast as your feet could take you, you leaned over the bannister of the quarter deck. The Dutchman, being the behemoth it was, had two lower galleries, just above the rudder, which connected with the captain’s cabin and with the officers’ quarters and the lower decks.

And lo and behold, William Turner Senior was staring right back at you from the upper gallery, eyes wide in surprise. In the water a small circle of foam was quickly dispersing, hiding any sign of the escape that had just taken place.

“Bastards!”, you cursed, and without thinking twice, jumped over the bannister and landed inches away from Turner.

He tried to run – where to was a mystery, for there was no escape from your wrath in the _Dutchman_ – but you were faster than him and tackled him, bringing him hard against the wooden floor.

“What have you done!!”, you screamed at him, as much a question as an accusation, but the man, with deranged eyes, only laughed.

“There’s nothing you can do, Chief. He’s gone”.

He was holding a parchment which you yanked from his hand. Coarsely traced with charcoal, it was a drawing which represented a key.

Of course. Turner. The question he had been asking at dice. _The key_.

_FUCK._

“Men, to me!”, you yelled, louder than ever before. “We have a traitor aboard! Turner has escaped! _Turner has escaped!_ ”

Surging from the quarter deck, the galleries, the wood of the ship itself, the crew rallied to your call and stood around Turner, who, despite trembling, managed to stand his ground.

The booming sound of Jones’s wooden leg announced the captain’s arrival and Turner’s downfall.

Jones pushed aside the men and looked at Turner, then at you. No time to beat around the bush; you were First Mate and you had failed in your duty. You all had.

“What all this fuss about?”

“He helped his son escape. With the key”.

He was not expecting that. One of his tentacles dove into his beard, through to his neck, only to find it naked. The key was gone.

Jones’s eye turned into slits and his tentacles bristled with a rage you’d seldom seen before. He approached Turner, groaning with hardly contained anger, but what was done was done.

“He’s my son”.

“He won’t be for long”, he spat, and nodded to you.

You knew that look.

It didn’t take you long to catch up with Will and the poor unfortunate souls that had taken mercy on the man they’d found adrift at sea. A commercial vessel, a little thing. It didn’t stand a chance.

Jones had Turner tied up, to make sure he had a first-row view of the show.

“You will watch this”.

Turner didn’t even reply. He just stared at the ship that carried his son and shivered at the fate that awaited him.

“Let no joyful voice be heard!”, you recited. The words always made a shiver go through your spine. “Let no man look up at the sky with hope! And let his day be cursed by we who ready to wake…”

You ground your teeth together and fixed your eyes in the silhouette of the vessel that the sun outlined in the horizon, taking great pleasure in the words that came out of your mouth. Nobody betrayed the _Dutchman_ and lived to tell the tale.

“The kraken!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week on our usual schedule! :D


	32. Isla Cruces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, babies! I hope you didn't miss Beto too much last week, but we're back on schedule now. Enjoy the ride!

“Take him away!”, you ordered, pointing at Turner. “I won’t tolerate any further insubordination!”

Turner didn’t fight the three men that dragged him downstairs, into the belly of the _Dutchman_. He was an empty shell, a shadow of the spectre he had become when he sold his soul to Jones; the little of him that he’d managed to save had died when the kraken had ripped apart with brutal ferociousness the merchantman that had carried his son. And good riddance to him.

Davy Jones hadn’t waited to see the kraken finishing off the ship and had left the deck. You followed suit and caught up with him at the helm, where he seemed to be contemplating something, his frown burrowed in thought.

“We have to go to Isla Cruces”, you said with your best First Mate voice. “I don’t trust Sparrow. If he placed Turner in the _Dutchman_ so he would spy on us and get the key, chances are he _knows_ what the key opens. We have to secure the chest”.

You were about to repeat everything as Jones didn’t reply and you thought he hadn’t heard you, but then he turned his face towards you and you realised he was just holding back the bubbling anger that threatened to break to the surface of his apparently calm demeanour. He was angry, very angry after being betrayed in such a way by one of his own, but he was also hurt. First you, now Turner. It seemed he was slowly losing control of his ship and he didn’t like that.

“We have to go to Isla Cruces”, you insisted.

“I heard you the first time. Get the crew moving. We’ll retrieve the key from Turner’s body later. Now it’s paramount that we get the chest away from those dirty traitors’ hands”.

“Hoist the sails!”, you yelled at the crew that gathered below you, both hands on the quarter deck’s bannister. “Secure the freight! Jimmy, set the route for Isla Cruces!”

The bo’sun nodded at you and a rumour spread throughout the crew. Isla Cruces. Everybody knew that the captain had hidden _something_ important there and most of them had pretty close guesses as to the nature of that something, but only you knew how important it really was. The _Dutchman_ hadn’t visited Isla Cruces in decades, and only you’d been there from time to time to ensure that the chest was still buried and forgotten.

But it wasn’t anymore.

“What are you loitering for, you bilge rats? To work, all of you!”

It was an imposing sight, Davy Jones at the helm, you by his side, as the _Dutchman_ sank into the waves of the Caribbean, disappearing from the view of any mortal man.

You stood there until you made sure that everything was on track and left Jones to manage the crew. You didn’t look at him as you left; there was a conversation to be had, but it was not the time and place. You needed more time to think.

Growing up aboard the _Dutchman_ had trained you to withstand the pressure of the bottom of the sea. Any other creature would’ve been utterly crushed and turned into a gory mush by now, but for you it was barely an annoying itch on your scalp. There was no rational explanation for the ship that now sailed close to the seabed other than magic. _Magic_. What a comfortable umbrella term for everything that surrounded you. Undead babies? Magic! Octopus captains of ghost ships? Magic! If only you could control it instead of merely being dragged around by it…

One day you were going to properly sit down and reflect on all the weirdness that surrounded you, but today was not the day.

You unhurriedly made your way to the brig where Turner was being held. You had questions and by the gods he would answer them.

Two men guarded the prisoner, looking extremely bored, and you recognised the one from the Singaporean dinghy who had almost taken you to Madagascar an eternity ago.

“Chief!”, they both saluted upon seeing you enter.

“At rest. I want to speak to Turner”.

He didn’t even acknowledge you were there. The two pirates fidgeted with their hands.

“Uh… Should we leave?”

“No need. I’m not going to ask him anything secret”.

“Oh, but you might not want them to hear what I’ve got to tell you”, chuckled Turner without looking up.

“Oh?”, you cocked your head and crouched next to the barred door to his jail. “And what would that be?”

“You were gonna let him die. He told me. They were gonna slit his throat on top of that blasted chest _and you just stood there and did nothing_ ”.

“Please, Turner, we’re pirates. It’s hardly news that I’d be willing to let someone perish if it benefited me. What, is that why you’ve so foolishly betrayed us? Resentment, revenge?”

“You kept silent!” He threw himself against the bars, all the molluscs that peppered his body clashing against them with a deaf clang. You were expecting him to. You didn’t even flinch and that only enraged him further. “I trusted you! For years! Yet you returned to the ship after having forfeited my son’s life _and you kept silent_!”

“Pathetic. You’re bound to the _Dutchman_ , Turner. You’ve only made your existence here more miserable than it already was. And see, it wasn’t that bad. Thanks to me you got to see young Will again, huh?”

That was too much. Turner grabbed you by your vest and slammed you against the bars, hitting your nose rather badly in the process. Your cursed, but his hands had gripped you tightly. He was trembling.

“You’ve taken my soul from me. You’ve taken my son from me. And for what? Huh? For what? Don’t look so confident, Chief. This isn’t going to go the way you think it will”.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Barbossa was working with Will? Out of love? Hah! No, nothing of the sort. You see, there are two pardons with their names waiting for them in Port Royal if they deliver you to the East India Trading Company. It’s just business”.

For the first time in your life, you felt the water bearing down on you as if it would annihilate you. No, that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t sell you out like that. He wouldn’t.

Except that he would, if the reward was good enough. And you knew it.

Your face must have become a mask of anguish, for Turner chuckled upon seeing for pained expression.

“Surprised? After all, he’s a pirate, just like you. What was it that you said before? It’s hardly news that he’d be willing to let someone perish if it benefited him. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. You’re nothing but a pawn in his game”.

“Shut up!”, you yelled, brushing him off. He let go of you, for he needn’t use force anymore. He had dealt you a death blow.

You were grateful for the water that surrounded you, masking the hot tears that sprang from your eyes.

“You’re going to be sorry for this, Turner”.

“What more can you do to me? Hah!”

You left the brig as fast as you could, slamming (or trying to, it wasn’t easy underwater) the door behind you. Your thoughts swirled inside your head, a veritable maelstrom of emotions, but chief amongst them the discovery that Barbossa hadn’t come for you, to see you, to perhaps make amends: he’d come to use you as a bargaining chip. Of course, Turner may have lied, but it seemed painfully real. You felt like an idiot after the row with your father, defending Barbossa only to run into the harsh reality of why he was there in the first place.

You’d protect the chest. That was the only thing that mattered now.

And if Jack or Barbossa tried to get their hands on it… You’d kill them both.

Isla Cruces was a tiny stretch of land in the middle of nowhere. It was nothing like Isla de Muerta, of course: no sharks, sunken ships or eerie mist enshrouding a cursed treasure. No, it was more like a paradise beach with funny coconut trees for a relaxing holiday lounging under the sun.

Too bad you didn’t have time for any of that.

There was a patch of green where an old Spanish church stood, now crumbling into pieces, surrounded by a small forest and a graveyard, which you’d absolutely loved when you were an intense fifteen-year-old. It had been Jones’s first choice for a place to bury the chest, but thankfully he’d changed his mind; it would be the first place anyone would search if they ever found out about the island. You hoped that would prove to be true and you could retrieve the chest without any interference.

The silhouette of the _Black Pearl_ was clearly visible against the clear sky, its sails now merely dark, not pitch black like the ones you’d gotten to know. Your stomach lurched. Of course they would’ve d fucking known. Now you only had to pray you could get to the chest before they did.

“Are we ready?”, you asked Maccus, who had come to stand behind you with an axe in one hand and his iron-spiked gauntlet in the other. Ready for war.

Ten other men, the most blood-thirsty and vicious of the crew, had been carefully selected to accompany you. Jones would remain aboard while you retrieved the chest and pummelled your way through any traitorous scum who wanted to get their hands on the heart of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. You nodded to Maccus and walked up to Jones, who was watching the island with the longing of one whose freedom had been cruelly shackled to a decaying ship.

“We won’t fail you, captain”.

“I think you know what’ll happen if you do!”, he snapped back, and you knew that, were you to flounder, the consequences wouldn’t be pleasant, daughter or not.

Signalling the men with a movement of your hand, you jumped into the crystal-clear waters of the island and held onto Maccus, who dashed towards the coast with his supernatural shark-like speed. Behind you, the _Dutchman_ sank into the waters, waiting for you to return like a predator ambushing his prey.

The midday sun scorched the bone-white sand of the beach and almost immediately dried your clothes and hair. You patted Maccus’s hand, still around your waist, with a sharper smile than his with all his pointy teeth.

“Leave some room for Jesus, will you, mate?”

“Shit, sorry”, he replied, letting go of you in a rush. The rest of the men looked at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“Come on, you scabby knaves! No time to lose! Distract those traitors and prevent them from getting the chest!”

A roar went up amongst the men, who raised their swords and axes and chain shots and darted for the forest. Maccus shot you one last look and followed suit. When you finally found yourself alone on the beach, your shoulders relaxed. They’d take care of Sparrow and his crew. Now, the chest.

If you hadn’t known exactly where it was it would’ve been like finding a needle in a haystack. Jones had buried it ‘in the beach’. There. You deal with it. Top-notch security, though. Why not add a little sign too, while he was at it? The key to his power and his life and he had _dug a hole and shoved it there_. It was a miracle that pirates had become the force of chaos that they were, seeing as they were all dumber than a box of rocks.

Cussing and cursing under your breath, you walked up to the patch of land where the chest was, sweat dribbling down your temples, when a screech in the distance stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Oh, fine! Let's just haul out our swords and start banging away at each other, that will solve everything!”

You knew that voice.

Elizabeth Swann, the woman herself, dressed like the shabbiest of shabby pirates – but also looking damn good, you couldn’t deny it – was kicking and stamping like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum, while three figures ran about, poking at each other with their swords.

“I’ve had it!”

One of them was unmistakably Jack Sparrow, the second you didn’t know but looked like a snack, and the third… Holy shit, was that Will Turner? Your jaw almost fell to the ground. How? _How??_ He’d survived the Aztec gold, the _Dutchman_ and the kraken and still had the energy to majestically engage in a duel with two other pirates. At this point you felt like you should almost take pointers from him.

“I've had it with wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirates!”

You wholeheartedly agreed.

Elizabeth’s cries were clearly in vain; the men were much more interested in their pissing contest, and you could very clearly imagine what the object of their fight was.

Without losing a beat, you ran towards the stirred patch of land where two shovels still stood, rammed into the ground.

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

Empty. They’d taken the chest.

_Motherfucking sons of a poxy-ridden hyena._

You were going to kill them all.

“Oh! Oh! The heat! I’m fainting!”, yelled Elizabeth, dropping to the ground in the fakest swoon you’d ever seen, and you were sorely tempted to run over her and just charge into the mess of hands and swords that was the fight between Jack, Will and the third very handsome and terribly dishevelled gentleman, but then a running figure in the background caught your attention. Just as he disappeared into the forest, you caught a glimpse of the chest. Of course it’d been stolen while the rest of them were bickering.

Bloody pirates.

Before anybody even realised you had been there in the first place, you chased the mysterious figure through the trees and bushes. The forest was dense and more than one branch ended up hitting you in the face, but you didn’t slow down and neither did your prey. Without stopping, you lifted your gun and aimed at the back of the running figure and were about to pull the trigger when you finally caught a good view of him and stopped dead in your tracks.

An impenetrable wall of palms forced him to halt his race and you met again, face to face, with Hector Barbossa. 


	33. I'll be back

Barbossa.

Barbossa was there, in front of you, staring at you, and you were staring back at him as if he were a ghost come from the deepest pits of Hell to haunt you.

The man who had broken your heart and had agreed to sell you out.

The man for whom you’d be willing to die.

The man who you were _very_ willing to kill at this exact moment.

“Thought you could escape me, captain?”, you greeted him, and Barbossa unsheathed his sword and pointed it at you. He couldn’t hold on to the chest for long _and_ fight you, so it was a matter of time before he dropped it. But you wanted to fight him. You wanted to make him bite the dust like the traitorous little bitch that he was.

“Apparently you’re as ubiquitous and timely as a rash, Miss Jones. Just another of your many bad habits”, he replied, thrusting at you and making you draw your own sword.

“Oh yeah? And what would those be?”, you said as you parried, answering his blow with another.

“Lying, first and foremost”.

“I thought that was a prerequisite for a pirate”.

“A good pirate knows how and when to go around spreading lies”.

“I suppose you could teach me a good deal about _that_ ”, and, as if highlighting that last word, you kicked the chest out of his hands. He pulled back his damaged hand, cursing, while the chest landed on the grass with a soft thump. You lunged for it but Barbossa tackled you out of the way and you rolled through the terrain, a confusion of arms, legs and grunts.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“You didn’t use to say that before!”

“That was before I learnt _you_ ’re the lying piece of shit!”

Your words startled him and you took advantage of his fleeting pause to punch him in the face and kick him off you, and got to your feet to recover the chest and your sword. But Barbossa was an experienced fighter and quickly recovered, lunging back at you, beginning a new dance around the chest, swords clashing against each other.

“I’ve never lied to you! You’re the one who kept things from me!”, he yelled.

“I’m an _undead pirate_! How the fuck is being Davy Jones’s daughter any more of a revelation than that, you bloody spoiled man-child!?”

“You came to the _Pearl_ to spy on us!”

“And to steal from you, but I did it upfront! Huh? Or didn’t I?”

Barbossa hesitated for a second, because, surprise surprise, you were right, and you tried to duck for the chest but he lashed at you and you were forced to retreat again.

“Nothing to say, _Hector_?” You pronounced his name with special venom. “Are you saving all your sweet talk for the British?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know! You’ve fucking sold me to the English! To get a bloody pardon from them!”

“That’s not true!”

“Like hell it’s not! Why else would you be here then!?”

He stepped towards you, striking you with his sword, but you managed to dodge it and swung back. He was getting more incensed by the second, but so were you and you wanted to push him until he reached the end of his temper.

“Because I was looking for you!”

“Why!? To sell me out!? To insult me again!?”

“ _BECAUSE I BLOODY LOVE YOU!”_

Oh.

_Oh._

You stopped dead in your tracks, your jaw almost dropping to the ground, your sword flaccid in your hand. Barbossa’s eyes sparkled, maybe from the heat and the effort, maybe from the fucking bomb he’d just dropped on you.

“You what?”

“I’m not gonna bloody repeat it, you heard me!”

“Pretty please?”

“No!”

“You sure you aren’t mistaken? That maybe you wanted to say something else?”

“No!!”

The chest all but forgotten by now, Barbossa jabbed at you again, this time hitting you square in the shoulder and propelling you backwards. You fell ass-first on the ground and rolled over to the side to regain your footing.

“What the hell! What are you attacking me for now!?”

“You’re the one coming here to kill me!”

“Well, not anymore, not after _that_!”

Holy crap. Your head was swimming in a dense, dense fog with occasional hearts floating through it.

“I just need the chest! I can’t leave without it!”

“Well, I need it too!”, he retorted, and you both looked at the chest at the same time.

Or at the empty spot where the chest had been until seconds ago.

You stared at it, stared at Barbossa and then back at it. A few metres from you two, running like their life depended on it (and now it did), Pintel and Ragetti were fleeing with the chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”, you cursed and sprinted towards them, Barbossa in tow.

They were faster than you’d thought, but your body didn’t tire, didn’t hurt like theirs did after such an exertion, and in a few seconds you were catching up with them.

But because things weren’t weird enough as it was, when you were barely at arm’s length from them, so close you could almost grab them by their shirts, a massive mill wheel, with Will Turner and the gorgeously filthy gentleman inside swirling like unwilling hamsters, appeared out of the blue and rolled all the way across the forest with a horrible racket, almost running you over and cutting you off from the two pirates. Barbossa grabbed you by the arm and yanked you backwards, just in time to get you out of the way of the wheel. You bumped into his chest and your eyes met for a flickering instant in something that was magical-borderline-awkward, and you resumed running after the thieves.

The trees soon gave way to the coast again, a white expanse of water and sand where a small dinghy was docked. The wheel spun, spun, spun and fell flat on its side with a wet thud, and you grimaced thinking about the two poor devils inside it. At the same time, Elizabeth and Jack appeared from another side of the forest, yelling and running like mad, and seconds after them the rest of the crew, swords in hand, howling just as much as them.

It was a sight.

Not losing a second, you charged against Pintel and Ragetti, who had almost made it to the dinghy, and they dropped the chest in horror when they saw you and your bloodshot eyes coming for them.

“Oh no!”

Swords clashed everywhere and the beach soon became a battlefield. You looked out for Sparrow and Turner, wanting to kill them as much as they probably wanted to kill you, but with an eye on the chest. Pintel and Ragetti were no match for you and they retreated easily away from the dinghy, and when you turned back to grab the chest Sparrow hit you squarely in the face with an oar.

You went down as if you were made of lead and somebody stepped on you while you were trying to get back on your feet. Your dignity hurt more than your nose, and when you finally re-emerged, soaking wet, you punched in the face the first person that you came across, which turned out to be Will Turner. Not a bad outcome, after all.

Somebody grabbed you by the arm and you punched back, but Barbossa stopped your fist. You were both right next to the boat, with the chest in sight, and yet he didn’t make a move for it. You could feel his fingers hot against your skin and the sound of his laboured breath; his eyes weren’t looking at the chest.

They were looking at you.

He let you go.

“Take it!”

“What?”

You thought you’d heard him wrong, but he insisted.

“Take the chest!”

“Why? Why would you…”

“Consider it a reconciliation gift. And an offering of peace so that your father kindly refrains from sending his pet after us”.

You stared at him in disbelief. Men flew and bellowed around you, splashing and sloshing in the shallow water, but none of it mattered. Not while he was looking at you like that. Not while he was offering to help you, despite everything, at the cost of his own position.

“You’re the most reckless son of a bitch I’ve ever known”, you uttered under your breath, and you brough his face to yours and kissed him.

It was a quick kiss, your lips just briefly touching, a caress that you hadn’t felt in over a year and missed more than anything, but those fleeting seconds were enough to ignite a fire inside you. Barbossa tensed, his body pressing against you as his hands grabbed onto your waist.

But you had to move. You had to take the chest to the _Dutchman_.

Tearing yourself from him with all the willpower you had, you whispered in his ear:

“Run”.

And without looking back you took the chest from the dinghy and ordered your men to retreat.

“We have the chest! To the _Dutchman_! To the _Dutchman_ , all of you!”

“No!”, shouted Elizabeth and tried to go after you, but Will stopped her as you disappeared under the waves.

You didn’t see Jack pointing his gun at Barbossa to drag him back aboard the _Pearl_ and be punished for his betrayal. You didn’t see Elizabeth asking Will where Norrington had gone and cursing their luck. You didn’t see the disgraced English officer sneakily running through the forest with a suspicious beating pouch tucked away in his pocket.

You had the chest, its comforting weight sagging against your shoulder. Maccus swam you back to the _Dutchman_ , lying in wait on the other side of the island, but you ignored all the glances he shot you. He’d seen you kiss Barbossa, all of them had, but what he had told you in the forest was just between you two. He’d helped you get the chest, the whole crew had heard his words. Your father would have to bow before the evidence.

The _Dutchman_ emerged from the depths with a splash and you presented the chest to Jones, pride beaming in your face. You smirked, unable to contain yourself, but Jones’s expression was immutable. Burrowed frown, eyes thin as slits. In the distance, the _Pearl_ weighed anchor and hoisted the mizzen, ready to leave Isla Cruces. Jones threw one look at the chest and moved to the bannister. You were confused.

“Captain, we got the chest! It was…”

He made a gesture with his tentacles to ask for silence. He was clearly fixating on the _Pearl_ , but why, now that you had retrieved the goal of this mad race?

“Are we giving chase, sir?”, asked Maccus, second in command, when he saw you didn’t know how to react.

“No”, he shook his head and smiled towards the shark-headed pirate. Maccus hesitated but then smiled back, a wicked smile that tore you into bits. You’d seen that smile before. You’d _smiled_ that smile before.

“No”, you protested, “no, you can’t! You can’t!”

“And whyever not, Miss Jones?”, stopped you the captain, restraining you. You tried to fight him but your distress got the better of you.

“He helped us! He gave me the chest! _He gave me the chest!_ ”

“You’re not thinking straight, Meridith. Lieutenant”, he signalled Maccus, “make sure she doesn’t get in the way”.

You opened your eyes wide, straining to believe what you were hearing, and when Maccus, not daring to defy his captain, pulled you back, you fought with all your might.

“No, no, no!!”

Jones looked at you once last time, something like sadness and regret flashing in his eyes, and turned his back to you. You kicked and punched but were soon swarmed by too many men who thought you were being unreasonable, that you’d sold yourself to Barbossa, and you were forced to hear how the capstan hammer boomed against the water, and after a moment of unnatural stillness, the calm that preceded the storm, the kraken latched itself onto the _Pearl_.

“No!!”

Your pleading fell on deaf ears. The kraken’s giant tentacles started to slowly crawl up the hull of the ship you’d loved so much, withstanding even the crew’s desperate attempts to blow it to pieces with cannon fire. Warm tears flooded your cheeks, but you couldn’t contain them, you couldn’t close your eyes to the spectacle of death and destruction you were being forced to watch. The _Pearl_ was on fire, being torn to splinters, while men were swept of the deck in the kraken’s blind rage, and there was nothing you could do.

“Please… Please, stop it”. Your voice had become a trickle, broken by the tears. Jones paid you no heed.

The kraken was ready for its last round. The _Pearl_ creaked and cracked, and this time it wasn’t just tentacles. The whole monster emerged, sprawling itself over the deck, opening a mouth that could swallow a whale with fangs as sharp as blades, and with one final battle roar it plunged the _Pearl_ into the depths of the ocean.

“ _NOOOOO!_ ”

You fell to your knees, sobbing.

How, how could things have gone so wrong? An instant ago you were in his arms, his lips on yours, you’d succeeded in your task, you were going to make your captain proud. How…

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t need to breathe, but even so you started to suffocate, as if every pore of your body had decided to close up, to deny what had happened, to try and stitch together every little piece of your broken heart. Bile rose up from your throat and you retched on the deck. The men stepped away from you. Nobody dared touch you.

If he’d had a heart, Jones’s would have broken at what he’d done to you. But it was for the best. You would hate him after this, so he had to convince himself that he hadn’t had a choice. You’d understand, in time.

“Open the chest”, he ordered, walking past you to where the damned box was being kept.

“But the key…”, replied Penrod.

“Open it! I don’t care how!”

Through blurry eyes you managed to see the foam that the _Pearl_ had left on the surface of the water. Would you be able to find him in the Locker? Would you be able to bring him back? You’d give anything, _anything_ to save him. And there was one person who could help you.

Supporting yourself on the bannister with trembling legs, you turned your head to Jones. If he knew what you were thinking about, you’d never regain his trust, but…

With a click, the lock gave way under Ratlin’s deft fingers.

Jones hovered over the open chest, a deathly silence taking over the ship. Your anger turned to dread. It couldn’t be.

“Sparrow…”, Jones trembled with wrath, all his tentacled bristling like one. “ _SPARROW!!_ ”

The chest was empty, the heart gone.

Gone where? To the depths of the ocean, with the _Pearl_? Or had you all been conned once more?

The answer didn’t make you wait. An hour later, a ship with the British flag and the emblem of the East India Trading Company appeared on the horizon and Jones tensed imperceptibly, but you knew him well enough to know it was a sign that things were going awry in the worst possible way.

Your anger had turned into a black hole that numbed all your feelings, so you barely reacted when Jones stalked over to you and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him.

“They have the heart”, he said to your ear, but his nervousness betrayed him and it sounded loud enough for the nearby men to hear it. What did it matter anyway, it wasn’t going to be a secret for long.

“They have the heart”, he repeated, and you forced yourself to focus your eyes and look at him, to pay attention, but you shook his hand off you as soon as you could. You didn’t want him touching you. Not after what he’d done. Pain flashed in his eyes but you ignored it.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it”, he responded simply. “You have to get out of here”.

“What?”

You weren’t expecting that.

“They’ll try to blackmail us with the heart, and you know what happens if the captain dies…”

“The _Dutchman_ must always have a captain”, you muttered mechanically the ship’s mantra you’d been hearing since you were born.

“You’re the only one who’s not tied to the ship, Beto. You’re our only chance of getting the heart back. You have to get out of here”.

You realised what he was asking of you. What was inevitably going to happen. Your eyes went wide in shock. First you lost the _Pearl_ and Barbossa with it, and now you were going to be wrenched from the only place you’d ever been able to call home, from your crew, from your own father. For a split second you wished it was all a nightmare you could wake up from, but reality was adamant in kicking you in the face.

The British ship approached, and the _Dutchman_ readied its cannons, the men took their swords to go down fighting if necessary, but Jones pressed you.

“Beto, _please_. I won’t have them catch you. I won’t have them do to you what they want to do to us”.

And then, seeing you nailed to the deck, he uttered the only words that could have made you move, the only you weren’t expecting him to say.

“I’m sorry”.

Your eyes met his, finally, and you had to use every single ounce of your willpower not to break apart there and then.

The British were upon you, and a man in a white wig with a shit-eating grin on his face climbed up to the quarter deck of his ship and showed the _Dutchman_ the prize that would give them control of the most feared ship in the Seven Seas.

You had to go.

You took Davy Jones’s hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with his tentacles, and looked him straight in the eye. Despite everything, he was your father and you loved him. It would take time for you to forgive him, if you ever did at all, but you didn’t want this for him. Nor for you ship or your crew.

“I’ll be back”, you said, and after depositing one last kiss on his forehead you jumped into the water on the other side of the ship and didn’t look back, didn’t say goodbye as you escaped the hand that fate had dealt the _Dutchman_. You were almost tempted to let the current take you, but you stayed firmed.

You’d be back to fight another day.

You were still Meridith Jones, First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_ and you’d well damn prove it.


	34. Bayou witch

You usually loved swimming around the sea, letting the currents take you here and there; it was how you moved around when you didn’t have the _Dutchman_ at hand, and you’d grown to understand and love the different shades of light that flickered in the water, the animals that approached you curiously and poked you, suspecting that there was something strange going on with you but not giving it too much thought. You’d learnt to love the freedom that being one with the sea brought you.

That day you felt no love whatsoever for the waves that soaked you to the bone.

There was too much to process and too little time. Who had taken the heart and when and how it had got into the Company’s hands were all questions that you couldn’t answer. If anything, the fact that somebody had handed the precious cargo over to the British could only mean that Barbossa hadn’t betrayed you, as the _Pearl_ and its crew had been but fodder for the kraken, but that was a very poor comfort.

You’d managed to get on track after having been brutally and aimlessly dragged around by the currents, who seemed to be laughing at the pirate who had fallen in disgrace, and you finally emerged on a beach of dark sand, a dense, marshy forest standing before you, just on the edge of the water. The sky above was grey and unpleasant; the swamps only attracted bad weather, a horrible humid and sultry hotness that stuck your clothes to your skin. You raised your head to look at the pitch-black clouds: it was going to rain, that was for sure, so you could only hope to reach your destination before they began to unload. The last thing you needed was to get doubly soaked or you’d end up looking like a washed-out Prospero.

You started walking through the jungle-like forest, looking out for giant roots or brackish ponds before you put your foot in them. You were an old salt, you’d been born and raised in the sea, and while solid land was not unknown to you, bayous like this one made you uneasy. They were a strange hybrid between the two worlds, and you knew all the weird stuff that could come out of liminal spaces: you were the best proof of it. And this bayou in particular made your skin crawl. You’d avoided this island as much as you possibly could and had sworn never to associate with the witch who lived in it.

Yet here you were.

One more broken promise, one more disappointment.

You’d hope she’d at least have warm soup when you arrived.

Her house was easy to find. The central one in the little community that had built its home in the middle of the swamp; not the most ostentatious, which was ironic given how full of herself she was, but you’d at least give her that.

People holding candles saw you arrived and stared, but nobody said anything. Silence hung over the place as heavy as the dampness that stifled you. You advanced, hands tucked away under your armpits, and then you noticed there were two boats tied to the stairs of her cabin.

You frowned. She rarely had visitors, and she _certainly_ didn’t have any friends. Customers, maybe? Superstitious sailors who wanted their fortunes told before they set sail?

With reluctant steps you made your way up to the door and breathed in deeply. You hated that you’d have to resort to her and she wouldn’t be any better pleased, but she owed Jones one. And she was the only one who could help you right now.

Goddammit.

You raised your fist but before you could knock the door swung open in front of you and you found yourself looking at a short, thin, dark woman with blackened teeth and dreadlocks. She looked you up and down with bloodshot eyes and gave a hint of a smile that curdled your blood.

“Well, what have we here”, she purred with that thick Jamaican accent of hers.

“Dalma”, you greeted her dryly. Inside the hut you could sense movement, but her body blocked the doorframe and you couldn’t make out who was inside.

“I was expecting you, but you’ve arrived earlier than I suspected”.

That startled you, but you didn’t let it show on your face. You adopted a studied neutrality as you pretended to be on top of things.

“Did you, now? I can’t say I expected less from such a famed soothsayer. Have your stones been chatty today?”

“Not the stones”, she replied in her expected and annoyingly cryptic manner. Smiling, she stepped aside and bid you enter with a gesture of her hand. Rather unnerved, you shot her a glance and entered the house, whose first floor was one big hall, with a thousand and one pieces of mystic crap hanging from the ceiling and a table covered by parchments, books and bottles and jars filled with things you’d rather not enquire about.

And there, sitting around the table with a steaming cup of tea in their hand, staring as you as if Davy Jones himself had stepped in, was the crew of the _Black Pearl_.

For a second you thought you were dreaming, that it was a trick of the poor, yellowish lighting that Tia Dalma had in that damned hut of hers, or an effect of the incense that floated in the air, but no. They were there. In the flesh.

You opened and shut your mouth like a fish outside the water (ironic, isn’t it?) but decided to keep it shut lest you made a fool of yourself. Elizabeth stood, dark circles under her eyes, and seemed to want to say something to you when a figure emerged from the shadows of the voodoo priestess’s home.

The floor under you gave way and it was all you could do not to fall on your knees.

Blue eyes wide in amazement, Barbossa stared at you from across the room.

 _He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive_ …

A single thought rushed through your mind, deafening all else, while you stared at the man who’d escaped death twice already and seemed to refuse to go down until you two were done with each other.

In a pleasanter world, you’d run towards him, arms stretched out, as if you were two lovers separated by destiny, and embrace him like there was no tomorrow, but it wasn’t a pleasanter world. In fact, it was a very much unpleasant one where not only had you lied to them, you’d also ordered one of them to be whipped and your father had sent a nightmarish monster from the deep to slaughter them all.

So you didn’t embrace him. Instead, you remained fixed to the ground, unable to say anything.

“Welcome, Meridith Jones”, said Dalma, breaking the silence as she closed the door.

“She’s not welcome here”, retorted Will, who was trying very hard to be angry at you but was not more threatening than a worked-up corgi. You frowned.

“You look quite recovered from your ordeal, Mr Turner”, you replied. That only incensed him further.

“You…”

“Now, now, let us argue like civilised people”. Pintel tried to mediate, but his short, stout figure was quickly overshadowed by the angry mood in the room. Barbossa stayed silent, his eyes fixed on you.

“She’s hardly civilised”, added Elizabeth.

“I’m not the one who sent a spy aboard somebody else’s ship to steal from my captain”, you defended yourself.

“No, you’re the one who sent the kraken after us!”

“I tried to stop it! I did! They restrained me, they didn’t listen to me!”

You looked at Barbossa while saying this, almost pleading. Now that he was alive, the dread that had gripped you regarding his death had turned into fear that he might believe you’d willingly summoned the sea monster.

“Why should we believe you? You’ve done nothing but lie to us”. Will was clearly not going to let it go.

“I did what I had to do to protect my own. You were willing to sell me into slavery to the British for your safety, so don’t you dare talk down to me”.

Elizabeth turned to Will with evident surprise. Ah, so he hadn’t told her everything. Interesting.

Only then you noticed a very glaring absence in the group.

“Where’s Sparrow?”

“Like you don’t know”, replied Elizabeth with bitterness.

“Did he go down with the _Pearl_?” You almost couldn’t believe it, but it would be like him. To choose death with his ship rather than a life without it. Bloody pirates…

“He… chose to stay behind. Give us time to escape”.

Somehow, Elizabeth’s voice didn’t sound convincing. What exactly _had_ happened on the _Pearl_ before the kraken had devoured it?

“Sparrow’s dead?”

“The debt is paid”, a middle-aged man with rather majestic whiskers said with regret. You’d seen him before, amongst the crew of the _Interceptor_ that you’d taken after the battle outside Isla de Muerta.

“Why are you here?” Elizabeth stood up and walked up to you. “What have you come looking for?”

You doubted for a moment and your eyes flickered to Barbossa. You needed to speak to him, and badly so, but not here. Not now.

“The Company has the _Dutchman_. They have the heart”. The whole room held in their breath.

“How? You took the chest”, asked Will.

“An _empty_ chest”, you corrected him. “Somebody had stolen the heart”.

“Norrington”, somebody whispered. He must have been the stranger in the wheel, but you’d ask for explanations afterwards. Now, you turned to Tia Dalma.

“You owe us one, and you know it. I have to free them. We can’t allow the Company to own the seas, to control them and smother them as they see fit”.

“Ah, but wasn’t Davy Jones the one who stole the control of the seas from its rightful owner in the first place?”

“Dalma…”

“Jack would know what to do. He always had the spirit to fight, no matter how insane the plan or strong the foe”, said the man with the whiskers.

“You must summon the Brethren”, said Dalma, leaving no room for debate. Her presence suddenly filled the room, despite her tiny body, but you knew it wasn’t a human force that animated her voice. “Only the nine Pirate Lords combined will be able to defeat them”.

 _And free me_ , were the words she didn’t yet dare utter, but they were clear enough for you. She smiled at you, an offering of peace: her freedom for Davy Jones’s. You’d sooner make a deal with the devil, but since he hadn’t bothered to show up yet, Dalma was your next best option.

“But Jack is dead”, protested Will.

“What if there was a way to bring him back?”. She scanned everybody in the room, her eyes burning like coals. “Hm? Would you do it? What would any of you be willing to do? Hmm? Would you sail to the ends of the earth and beyond to fetch back witty Jack and him precious _Pearl_?”

You could almost taste the tension in the air. Excitement buzzed in the air as one by one the crew of the _Pearl_ , or what was left of it, raised their glasses in unison, swearing to go to beyond the ends of the earth to save their fallen captain. Only you knew where that would take them. Your realm.

Davy Jones’s Locker.

Dalma smiled with pride that it had taken so little to convince them all and turned to you.

“Then you’ll need a captain who knows those waters”.

“She’s no captain of mine”, snapped Will. “I don’t trust her”.

“Neither do I”, said the man with the whiskers. You couldn’t blame them, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

Elizabeth seemed undecided, mouth gaping as if trying to put her thoughts in order. Before she’d been clearly hostile, but now… Maybe she was beginning to see you in a different light.

“Neither do I, neither do I!”, repeated a blue and yellow parrot that you hadn’t seen before, giving you a terrible fright. It was sitting on the shoulder of an older fellow who looked like he’d seen better days.

“Well…”, began Pintel, Ragetti stuttering behind him.

“I do”.

The whole room turned to Barbossa, including you.

He’d been silent as the grave until then, waiting to make some kind of grand entrance, just like this one. Always the drama queen. He smiled crookedly at you and you couldn’t help timidly smiling back.

“I trust her”.

Will opened his mouth to respond to that, determined to be a noble pain in your ass until judgment day, but Elizabeth stopped him.

“We don’t have a choice. We need her”.

“You do”, you agreed. And you needed them, but you weren’t going to say that out loud.

“It is decided then”, and with that Tia Dalma concluded the improvised meeting. You’d leave the next day after deciding where to head next, but before that you all needed some rest. Nearly escaping being devoured by a giant sea monster was rather taxing for anybody, no matter how experienced a pirate they were, so nobody refused the good night’s sleep that Dalma was offering. You were the only one unnerved by staying there.

“You can sleep outside with the mosquitoes if you don’t like my hospitality”, she said sweetly when you approached her with patent disdain. The rest of the men avoided you for the time being.

“Don’t think for a minute I like being here”, you hissed.

“And don’t you go thinking that I like having you in my home. You remind me too much of him”.

“Should give you a lesson in humility, then”.

“Listen to me, Meridith”, she pronounced your name with all the poison in the world, lowering her voice, “I’ve been trapped in his pathetic form for longer than I care and I _will_ be free, with your help or without it. But in this particular instance, I think we can both agree that it’s in our best interests to… cooperate”.

“I’m beyond the power of the gods, _Calypso_ ”, you replied, crossing your arms. “You and your threats don’t scare me. You better keep your word this time or I swear I’ll move heaven and earth to make you pay. Your freedom for my father’s. His _entire_ freedom, unfettered and unconditional. Are we clear?”

With this you extended your hand. She stared at it and at what you were offering. People might not give them too much thought, but gods knew how powerful and binding promises could be. Both Davy Jones and Calypso had paid the price for breaking theirs.

“Nobody is beyond the power of the gods, child. Not even you”.

Not without reluctance, Dalma shook your hand. The deal was on.

“You can have one of the guest rooms”, she said, leading you upstairs.

“One of the guest rooms? What, you have several? What on earth for?”

The last thing you saw before disappearing upstairs was Hector Barbossa looking at you, an indecipherable glint in his eye, while he ate a green apple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all gonna love Friday's update... 🤭


	35. You're mine

The door clicked behind you as Dalma closed it, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’d all have to get going soon, lest the British track you down, so your stay at her home would only be a matter of a few hours, enough for you to rest your weary bones, but it didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

You collapsed on the straw bed that lay in the corner of the room, trying to make as little contact with the furniture as possible. You hated everything about being here. As if you hadn’t failed Davy Jones enough by losing the heart, you’d sought refuge and help from the very woman who had made him cut it out in the first place, and bumped into the _Pearl_ ’s crew to boot.

But he was alive.

Barbossa was alive.

You released the sob of relief you’d been holding back at the meeting. He was there, in the flesh. He had given you the chest. He had betrayed his own for you, to help the man who was about to send the kraken to devour his ship. And…

_Because I bloody love you!_

You couldn’t get those words out of your head. After having chased them for so long, your mind refused to believe they were true, but every time you thought about them, you could feel a pulse rushing through your body.

The door clicked again and this time you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. You silently thanked the gods that he’d had the courage to take the first step.

“Meridith”.

Unspoken words clung to the air between you as you stared at each other, determined to wait until the other one spoke first.

But you had lost too much to risk anything else. You were tired of losing people. You were tired of missing chances.

“I thought you had died”, you muttered.

“That’s usually what happens when you send the kraken after a ship, yes”.

You couldn’t help a laugh as you covered your face with your hands.

“Bastard”.

“Look at me”.

He knelt before you and took you by your wrists, gently tearing them away from your face. Your skin was scarred by years of fighting and murky from the battle at Isla Cruces, but that had never mattered before to you as much as it did now. You tried to turn away from Barbossa but he held you in place. He wasn’t forceful, but he was firm.

“When the _Interceptor_ went up in flames a year ago with you inside it, I felt as if something cracked inside me, and when I learnt who you were, that it might have all been a farce to reach Jack, I…”

“But it wasn’t! It wasn’t”. Your voice began to break.

“I know that now. I know now a lot of things that I didn’t know then. And chief amongst them is that I never want to let you go again”.

He took your chin and tilted it upwards and you couldn’t help but lose yourself in his eyes, as blue and clear as the day you met aboard the _Pearl_ , so long ago.

“You’re mine, Meridith Jones. And I’m yours, in body and soul”.

You didn’t find in you the words to express the feelings that were coursing through your veins, so you leaned in and kissed him. He grinned fiendishly and kissed you back, and this time there was no holding back. There were no secrets, nothing to lose, nothing to prove to anyone. This time it was just you and him, alone with each other, and you fell onto the straw mattress, his lips pressing against you as if he had been dying of thirst and you were the only thing who could quench it.

His skin was warm against you, warmer than it had ever been, and you realised this was the first time you’d touched him, _properly_ touched him, after the curse had been lifted. He was human, a living, breathing man, with a pulse and blood running through his veins. You felt him against you, his chest heaving in consonance with yours, a growing bulge in his pants that made you feel an unbearable heat between your legs.

“Hector…”, you managed to mutter when he left your lips to trace your jawline and neck with kisses, and his hands travelled all the way down to your hips, driving hungrily into your flesh at the mention of his name. Everywhere that he kissed felt on fire and you needed more, more. You clutched his face in your hands and brought it up to yours, kissing him again, opening for him, and when your felt his tongue entwine with yours, your hands started searching for the buttons on his waistcoat, eager to get it off.

Without drawing apart from you, he straddled you, and the grinding of his hips against yours while doing so made you moan with a voice you didn’t know you had. He almost bit your lip, overtaken with desire, and fumbled with your shirt until he managed to pull it off.

“Gods, I want you. I want you so much”.

His voice was husky as he breathed against your skin. With skilled fingers he undid your bustier and traced the curve of your breasts with his mouth. You moaned again, feeling your nipples getting harder and harder with every stroke of his tongue, and warmness flooded your core. You wanted him too, and you wanted him _now_.

“You’re _mine_ ”, you whispered in his ear, and propping yourself up, you tore his waistcoat and his shirt off and took in the sight of his naked chest. He was just like you, full of scars that told a hundred stories of his toils at sea, and you wanted to kiss and taste every single one of them.

You leaned into him, but before you got the chance, he slid his hand into your pants and you had to grab onto him, holding in a breath. His fingers slid inside you, finding you wet and demanding, and as he pushed inside you, his thumb rubbed your clit in circles, making you shudder and bite your lip to stifle a moan, but Barbossa pushed you back down onto the mattress.

“No, no, don’t hold back, my dear. I want to hear you. Let me hear you”.

His voice was dense with desire and as his fingers kept working at you, massaging all the right spots, your body twitched in anticipation. You settled your pelvis against his hand and his thumb pressed your clit, tearing a groan from you. You gasped and clenched around the fingers massaging your slit, and when your back arched, wanting to feel him even deeper within you, he took of your breasts in his mouth, kissing and it caressing it, and you thought you’d lose your mind.

Barbossa’s mouth left your skin and withdrew his fingers from you, but he hushed your protests with a wicked smile.

“Hey! What are you…”

“Shh, my dear, shh. Do you think I’d miss all the fun?”

Almost tearing the fabric off you, he pulled your trousers and underwear off, leaving you as naked as the day you were born, and his eyes all over your body, devouring every inch of you, made you feel as if your skin was on fire. His eyes stopped for a few seconds on the scar that crossed your heart, where the bullet Jack had intended for him had struck you what seemed an eternity ago.

You grinned at him.

“Do you like what you see?”

“You’re beautiful”.

He leaned into you, leaving a trail of kisses from your breasts down to your belly, your thighs and finally settling between your legs. You wanted him so badly, and when you first felt his mouth on you, you shuddered. He gripped you, caressing your thighs, and teased you, running the flat of his tongue against your soaked slit. You quaked, gasping slightly, and raised your hips, almost pleading to have him inside you. His tongue gently rubbed your hardened nub, eliciting from you moan of pleasure, and finally went into you, playing with your opening and with your clit, making you whimper and close your legs around his head in pleasure. He knew what he was doing: his expert hands were all over your body, playing with your breasts or stroking your inner thighs while his tongue rubbed your clit, drawing shapes on it, making you want its touch as soon as it was gone, making your muscles contort in need, in rapture.

“Yes, yes”, you moaned, making his increase his speed, and you tilted your head backwards. “Hector, yes!”

You felt it coming: his touch, his tongue, the things he was doing to your body was bringing about a wave of ecstasy that nobody had made you feel before, and as you tumbled over the edge you shouted his name, still feeling him inside you.

You fell limply onto the bed, sweating but feeling a peace and a fuzziness inside you that cleansed your soul. Your breathing was ragged and you smiled at him when, after leaving one last kiss on your belly, he crawled up to your face and kissed you. He tasted like you and it was glorious.

“Had fun?”

“I’d say”, you smirked, kissing him again. He caressed you with a tenderness that you’d seldom seen before in him, but you couldn’t fail to notice how the bulge in his pants was threatening to rip the fabric if nothing was done about it. With a shit-eating grin, you pushed him under you and slowly, ever so slowly, brought your hands down to his crotch, where you could feel his cock twitching under your touch.

“Well, well, Captain Barbossa, what have we here?”

You could see he was trying to reply in kind with his usual smugness, but as soon as your hands slipped beneath his clothes he tilted his head back, biting his lips.

Unable to hold back any longer, you pulled down his trousers and found him firm and eager for you, so much that his cock had already begun to ooze precum, staining his clothes, and when you traced the shape of him with your fingers, Barbossa’s whole body shuddered. You stroked his member, taking in its length and the way it answered to your touch and delighting in the sounds you were extracting from the captain of the _Black Pearl_ , until you kissed the tip, tentatively rubbing your tongue against it, and finally took him in your mouth.

He twitched again and his legs tensed around you. He groaned as his fingers entwined in your hair, pulling slightly, but you didn’t mind it: you were enjoying too much the taste of him in your mouth, the sounds of pleasure that were coming from his lips, the length of him against your tongue. You played with him, as he had played with you, drawing shapes against his cock with the tip of your tongue, fondling his balls with one of your spare hands and occasionally withdrawing from his member to kiss his thighs, almost with reverence, only to have him complain and return to his pleading cock with renewed energy.

It was bulging with anticipation for its release; Barbossa’s body twitched in eagerness and his fingers clasped your hair so tightly you almost whimpered, but you couldn’t take you attention away from him. He was so close, and you felt your core heat up again, wetness pooling between your legs. He was in your power, at your mercy, moaning from the pleasure you were giving him with your mouth, and the mere thought of it turned you on more than you could bear.

“Meridith”, he moaned. “Shit, Meridith, I…”

And then he came, an explosion in your mouth, warm and salty, and you swallowed as much of it as you could, indulging in the sensation of having made the man you loved come; probably one of the most romantic things you’d ever done.

His breathing was uneven, just like yours, and you inched your way up to him, deliberately pressing your naked body to his: he was fiery hot, glistening with sweat, and his muscles immediately tensed again when he felt your skin and your breasts bearing down on him. With a heave, he took your face in his hands and kissed you fiercely. You leaned into him, losing yourself in his lips once again, and smiled against his face when he parted from you. Forehead against forehead, the two of you were grinning like idiots, exchanging kisses and smiles, until you pinned him back down, straddling his hips. His member immediately reacted to the closeness of your body, but the man himself quizzically cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

You licked your lips, slowly, so that he could trace every inch of them as your tongue passed over them.

“I’ll say. But I’m not done with you yet”. You leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “I want you inside me”.

“I will be very happy to oblige”, he replied, in an equally husky tone, thick with desire.

He was erect again, pressing against your ass with anticipation, and you could feel how wet you were and how much you wanted him, how much you’d wanted him ever since you’d first met him, that fateful night aboard the _Pearl_.

You tilted your body upwards and caught his lips with yours as your hand stroked him, eliciting slow moans from Barbossa that only excited you further. Your body was ready to receive him and you bit your lip as the tip of his cock gently caressed your opening, taunting you, and then with excruciating slowness entered you.

“Don’t you dare play with me, you bastard”, you groaned, eyes half closed with pleasure.

“But it’s the only thing I want to do”, he laughed, and thrust himself into you.

It felt just as you’d imagined, only better. He was inside you, connecting with you, a pressure hitting just the right points, and your muscles clenched around him, wanting him ever deeper. You moaned, louder than before, resting your forehead against his chest, and that unmade him. With heightening speed, he thrust into you, hips buckling against yours, and as he moved his shaft rubbed against your hardened nub, sending you over the edge. He sat up, taking you in his arms and sitting you on his lap, pushing his cock inside you until almost hitting your cervix, and you buried your face in his neck.

He took you by your cheeks and kissed you, once, twice, thrice, while he kept pounding into you and one of his hands slipped down between your legs to make sure you were enjoying it as much as he was. He found you soaked and trembling and when his finger found your clit and began tracing it as his dick rubbed against it you moaned his name until it was the only thing you could think about. His rhythm sped up and his cock started to twitch inside you, and you knew he was close to peaking, but then again so were you.

As his finger pressed against your clit with one last shudder you tumbled over the edge and rode out your orgasm, wave after wave hitting you with unbearable pleasure, and he came at almost the same time, groaning your name as his body jerked and he unloaded inside you. A warm feeling spread between your legs and you fell against Barbossa, who put his arms around you and cradled you with a gentleness you suspected nobody but you had ever witnessed before.

You were both slick with sweat and sticky all over, but you couldn’t have cared less. He was there, you were in his arms, and you never wanted this moment to end. It took a little while for your breathing to return to normal, and meanwhile Barbossa played with your hair.

“No, don’t move”, you protested when he made as if to pull away. “I like feeling you inside me”.

He nodded and, without saying anything, he lay down with you leaning on his chest. Despite everything that had happened, you felt at peace. You felt you could weather the storm and win against whatever odds. You felt powerful once more.

“So you love me, huh?”

“I’m glad you heard it so well the first time because I’m not saying it again”.

You grinned and kissed his chest, leaving a trail with your mouth until you reached his lips.

“Maybe I’ll have to get it out of you by hook or by crook then”, you smiled, and he looked at you with a feverish fire in his eyes.

Morning was still a long way away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaaaaaaas baby!


	36. Next steps

“Should I call you Beto?”

“Hm?”

Barbossa’s breath caressed your nape as he spoke. He had his arm draped over your hip and was absentmindedly stroking your belly. His hands were callused and tickled you a bit every time they passed over your skin, but you loved the feeling and wouldn’t want him to stop for the world.

“Why do those two scrawny dogs get to call you Beto and I don’t?”

“D’you mean Pintel and Ragetti?”

“Aye”.

“Well… You just never asked, I suppose. But you can call me anything at all that you like, _Hector_ ”.

He grinned fiendishly and rolled over you to kiss you. It wasn’t the most comfortable position in the world, as the straw mattress hadn’t been enough for your exertions after the third bout of the night and you’d ended up on the floor, with every bump of the wooden floorboards now biting into your flesh. But what the hell, Hector Barbossa was eating you up, so you could deal with a few angry floorboards.

“I like it when you say my name”.

“I’ve noticed it”.

A very weak sunlight was streaming in through the window, marking the beginning of a new day. You’d barely slept at all, rather more interested in other more pleasurable tasks, and didn’t regret it one bit. After all, sleeping was more of a hobby than a need for you. Barbossa, however…

“You should get some sleep before going down. Just a bit”.

“Don’t you dare treat me like an old man”.

“You _are_ an old man”, you said, and kissed him back before snuggling up against him once more. He didn’t protest and closed his eyes, and in no time he was finally asleep. You were too comfortable in his arms to move and could use with some time to think. Events had been a whirlwind into which you’d unavoidably been dragged and thinking straight had been impossible. Especially last night with your head and mouth full ofOKAY Beto, get your mind out of the gutter. The British were in possession of the _Dutchman_ , which was a terrible thing, although you knew that your father would resist obeying them as much as he possibly could, but the fact that Will Turner had struck a deal with them concerning you meant that very possibly the Company wasn’t after the _Dutchman_ itself but after its immortal First Mate. It made you feel like shit, but at least it meant you still had the upper hand.

This was exactly the kind of mess you didn’t like because you couldn’t punch your way out of it. It was way less stressful when you could just go stabby-stab on whatever was causing your problems and be done with it, but even if you managed to gut the guy with the pretentious wig that was holding up Jones’s heart before you fled the _Dutchman,_ he’d just be replaced by another fancy-pants with an even more pretentious wig. No, you needed something bigger, something scarier that would deter these people from ever sailing your seas again.

Something like an angry goddess.

You adjusted your body over Barbossa. He groaned but didn’t wake and you played with his hair while thinking about what awaited you downstairs. Did they know who “Tia Dalma” was? Did they at least suspect? You absolutely hated having to depend on your father’s treacherous ex-girlfriend, but you didn’t really have a choice. You had to free her and get her to smash the British into little pieces, now and forever. And hope that Jones wouldn’t make you walk the plank for it.

And he wouldn’t take very well either that you and Barbossa were now… What? Lovers? More than that? You’d cross that bridge when you got to it. For now you were together and that was all you needed. No more secrets to stow away. You could just be your strange undead self with no regrets. Fancy that.

Pots started banging downstairs and the racket of several pairs of boots shook the grubby hut waking up Barbossa and announcing that it was time to get dressed and get breakfast. Not that he was in any hurry. He just sat there, leaning back on his elbows, as you gathered all your strewn clothing from the floor and the furniture (now it smelled of voodoo incense, amazing), eating you up with his eyes. You could almost feel his gaze tracing the curve of your breasts and had to actively concentrate not to throw yourself at him for another round of lovemaking. No, Beto, focus, for god’s sake!

“Careful, captain, or you won’t be hungry for breakfast”, you purred, putting on your shirt deliberately slowly. He let out a loud laugh.

“I might be hungry for something else”.

You moved up and down your eyebrows raunchily and left the room with a grin. You’d never had a relationship like that with anyone, where you could banter and have a laugh but still feel something beneath all that. It made you feel light in the head.

“Had a good night’s sleep?”, you greeted the people already gathered in the downstairs parlour, who were everyone except Barbossa and the bald dwarf. Will Turner made a point of not deigning to acknowledge your existence, while the rest of them didn’t know how to address you.

“Better than you, it seems”, smiled Dalma, appearing from behind you with a tray of steaming teas. You politely declined one, as you’d rather die of thirst than accept any beverage of hers, and sat down on a stool.

“I hope we didn’t keep you good people up until too late”, you grinned back.

“You weren’t exactly discreet”, said the man with the whiskers, avoiding your gaze.

“Discretion is for the weak”.

You sipped your tea as Barbossa finally emerged from the upper floor, followed by the dwarf, who looked as uncomfortable as everybody else. He tipped his hat at the rest of the crowd, bidding them good morning, and simply went to stand by your side, one of his hands resting on your shoulder. Your chest could’ve burst with pride at that touch.

“So, we all agree we have to find Jack”, said the man with the whiskers. You really had to ask for everybody’s names. “And for that we have to reach… the Locker”.

Every neck in the room turned and you looked behind you in case somebody else had joined the party and you’d missed their entrance, but there was nobody there and you realised they were staring at you.

“Oh, no, don’t look at me. I’ve not a clue as to how to get there”.

Somebody spat out their drink, probably Pintel. Everybody else just stared at you in shock.

“But aren’t you Davy Jones’s daughter, First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_?”, asked Ragetti.

“Yep”.

“So how come you don’t know how to get there?”

“Do you think the _Dutchman_ comes with a parchment with instructions or something? Every time we wanted to go there we just… went. The ship sank and we were there. _Magic_ ”.

“I hate magic”, muttered Barbossa from behind you. You had to agree.

“So what are we to do then?”, asked Elizabeth. “If you’re not going to be of any help…”

“That’s a bit harsh, luv”, you protested. “I can guide you once we’re there. I know the Locker like the palm of my hand. I just can’t think of a method to get you lot there that doesn’t involve drowning you”.

“It would be preferable to avoid that, yes”, replied the man with the whiskers.

“We must go to Singapore then”, sentenced Barbossa. “We need the navigation charts that Sao Feng has in his power”.

“The legendary navigation charts?”, muttered Pintel and Ragetti in unison.

“The what?”, you said.

“Sao Feng has a unique set of charts that show paths that are hidden in most maps”, the ex-captain of the _Pearl_ patiently explained, walking around the room. Thankfully, neither Elizabeth nor Will seemed to know what the charts were, so the explanation wasn’t only in your benefit. “If we manage to get our hands on them and learn how to read them, they will surely take us to the Locker”.

“You seem to have this very well thought out”, you mused, crossing your arms and legs.

“I wanted to keep my options open if I didn’t manage to find you by my own means”, he grinned.

“Okay, lovebirds”, interrupted the man with the whiskers. “And how do you propose we get the charts and visit the Locker when we haven’t even got a proper ship to sail? We should thank your very own Davy Jones for that, by the way”.

“Keep my father’s name out of your mouth”, you frowned.

“I’m sure Sao Feng can be persuaded to graciously lend us a ship and a crew, and maybe even the charts”, intervened Barbossa.

“Oh, yes, because he’s so well known for his magnanimity and generosity”.

“Do you have a better idea?”

You smiled wickedly.

“As a matter of fact, I do”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, see you on Friday! Thanks for reading!!


	37. Singapore

“This is a terrible idea”.

“Welcome to all the plans that have ever come out of my head”.

Elizabeth followed you through the sodden waterways of Singapore, her blond hair tucked away in a bun under a wide-brimmed hat in the Singaporean style. She had become perfectly camouflaged not only with the people from the city but also with the pirates of the crew of the _Pearl_. She clearly didn’t trust you, but you felt there was a part of her that was curious, that wanted to get closer to you.

Maybe that was why she’d agreed to follow you to the temple of Sao Feng’s revered uncle, where Barbossa had located the infamous charts. The building was on the outskirts of the city, in a small valley surrounded by dark green trees and a lagoon that had the same clouded water that flowed through the canals of Singapore. The temple had seen better days. It was a massive structure, rising to the skies, completely covered by statues and arabesques that must have been colourfully painted once but now where rather down on their luck, their paint chipping off everywhere. Still, it was rather unnerving to have so many blind eyes looking in your general direction.

There were a few which weren’t blind, though.

Sao Feng wasn’t leaving the protection of his precious documents to chance and he’d posted scores of his thugs around the place. Some of them were unmistakeable and looked like angry pitbulls who would bite off your head if you got near. Others were more subtle. They were dressed like commoners, trying to go unnoticed, but you could tell when a man was out for blood from miles away. It wasn’t going to be easy.

At your side, Elizabeth took everything in with a curious stare. You looked at her sideways. She was growing on you, the unexpected lady-cum-corsair.

“So how long have you wanted to become a pirate?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on. You happily jumped aboard a pirate ship to save your boyfriend, braving a bunch of angry pirates and a curse, were quick to get a gun and a sword and, I suspect, around thirty other pointy devices to fight whoever needed to be fought, and now you’re collaborating with two of the most dangerous pirate crews in the Caribbean to bring back one of the seven Pirate Lords. Not something that happens every day to a well-behaved English girl”.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply but had to close it when she found nothing to retort with.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you make for a great pirate”, you added, eyes still fixed on the brutes that guarded the temple. One of them had been digging into his nose and was now studying the content of his blackened nails. You winced in disgust.

“Thank you”. She paused for a minute. You could hear her breathing behind you. “I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would”.

“Why does that sound like a confession?”

“Maybe it is one”.

“Is Young Master Turner not good at listening?”

“Will is… He’s a good man”, she replied, but you could feel the restraint in her voice.

“Ah. That often doesn’t make a good pirate. You, on the other side…”

“What about me?”

“Hector said you convinced Jack Sparrow to remain aboard the _Pearl_ when the kraken attacked”.

This time she didn’t answer back and you turned to find her looking elsewhere with a clearly distraught expression on her face.

“It was the only way”, she muttered. “The kraken was after him. We would have all died otherwise”.

“Listen, love, I won’t be the one to chastise you for tricking a pirate into his demise. The gods know I’ve done it plenty of times. Plus, now you’re going to risk your life to bring him back, innit? I’d say that evens things out”.

“You’re very strange”, she said, after staring at you for some time.

“You don’t say”.

A party of two men approached the sentinels at the entrance to the building and spoke to them in what looked like a hearty conversation. One nodded and pointed towards the back of the temple, at what looked like a closed-off garden.

“Oh, look”, Elizabeth pointed towards the back entrance, following their gazes. “It looks like a door! Maybe we can go in through there. If we wait until night falls, the guards won’t be able to spot us as clearly as in daylight. The charts must be in a secure location within the temple, so as long as we’re discreet they shouldn’t be able to find us until Will and the others have secured the ship. See? Those two men over there have probably finished their shifts and are about to change, which makes it five hours per shift, and that one in particular seems to squint and probably can’t see very well at a distance, so if we try to find where he is stationed…”

“Elizabeth”, you interrupted, “I love that you have such a strategic mind but I stopped listening five minutes ago. I do things a little differently”.

And before Elizabeth could stop you, you jumped out of your hiding spot, a gun in each hand and a wicked smile upon your face, and shot point-blank the two guards at the door.

“Surprise, bitches!”

The ensuing battle was too fast for Elizabeth to follow properly. She had thought until then Jack Sparrow was the most reckless person she’d ever met, and possibly the craziest too, but oh boy were you moving up fast in her scale of stark raving mad people. You shot your guns, one after the other, with the glee of a child trying out toys for the first time, and yelled as you emptied your barrels on the men that came out to meet you and kicked them out of the way while recharging your flintlock. The smoke of gunpowder mixed with the incense that floated everywhere created an almost magical atmosphere of haziness that could knock a grown man by itself. The temple’s attendants ran away screaming, terrified of the crazy lady with two guns who was shooting everything in her path and having too much fun while doing so.

A brute came up to you with an axe before you’d had the chance to get your pistols up and going again, so you had to duck and move aside, avoiding the axe’s blade by just a few inches, and regaining your footing your kicked him in the shins as hard as you could. The man cried out in pain and the few seconds of hesitation that followed that cry were enough for you to launch yourself into the air and land on top of him, encircling his neck with your legs, and you used his massive weight to slam his body against the floor. The man gasped for breath as his flesh hit the ground and you landed a blow straight on his face. Your fist connected with his nose and forehead and the bone gave way with a wet crunch. The man fell to the floor and you continued your advance, unstoppable.

Two more men, lanky and nimble, jumped out of the mist and onto you, and you could only stop one of them, blocking his knife with the body of your flintlock, but when the second one was about to sink his blade into your neck, a gunshot boomed in the hall and the fellow went down.

Behind you, a gun firmly clutched in her hand, stood Elizabeth. Smoke came out of the barrel of her weapon. The man you were struggling with only had time to look up in shock before he too got a bullet between his eyes.

“Amazing aim, Miss Swann”, you smiled, getting a grip on both of your guns. “Thank you”.

“You’re crazy”, she said, but you noticed she couldn’t help smiling a bit.

“Don’t get yourself killed”, you cautioned her, and dashed off again into the heart of the temple.

It was as mysterious and exotic as you’d imagined it, even if it looked rather rundown, but you could tell the inner sanctum had been a place of splendour in the past. Its walls were brightly coloured, with the humidity rather blurring the frescoes, and statues lined the corridors everywhere. These seemed to have no end: door after door, hall after hall, you penetrated into the deepest bowels of the temple, kicking and shooting men out of the way. Behind you, gunshots boomed and the clack of boots on the tiled floor signalled that Elizabeth was still very much alive and following you. You felt strangely proud of her.

You stopped before a door delicately carved out of ivory, the figures on the gateway swirling and writhing all along the arch. It was almost hypnotising. Beyond, only darkness.

You readied your guns but nobody came at you from the inside. No thugs, no scared monks. It was eerily silent. Even the noise of the fight in the rest of the temple seemed to drown in the deafening silence of this one room.

Slowly, you stepped inside. There were no windows, just a single oculus opening in the central dome of the sanctum, shedding light on a sparsely decorated altar. There, amongst flowers and incense sticks, rested the charts. They were bigger than you’d expected them and looked old as balls, so you were gonna have to be very careful when handling them. Still cautious of your surroundings, you walked up to the altar and stretched out your hand to grab them.

You didn’t see the knife coming out of the darkness or the sneaky monk who brandished it until it bit into your flesh, tearing through the bone and sinew of your arm. You roared and stumbled back, holding your wounded arm through the pain, while the monk jumped away from you and hid once again in the shadows. You were stunned, not because of the attack itself, but because it _hurt_.

 _It hurt_.

It wasn’t bleeding, obviously, but your arm felt on fire and you had to clench your teeth to avoid screaming. You were immortal and wounds had never been anything but a minor annoyance at you. Not even when you’d been shot in the face had you felt pain like this. What on earth was happening?

As if summoned by your thought, the monk attacked again, but this time the pain had sharpened your senses and you saw him coming. You ducked and, ignoring the screeching ache of your arm, hit him as hard as you could with the butt of your gun.

The man went flying and hit the wall, but got up almost immediately. Blood flowed from his left nostril and his pupils were dilated. Had he taken something to withstand pain and fight no matter what? He was an elderly man, with long white whiskers, but seemed to be agile beyond his years. In his right hand, the knife with which he’d stabbed you gleamed in the weak light from the oculus, and you realized it was black.

Obsidian.

Obsidian weapons were famed in many cultures as instruments capable of harming even the strongest supernatural beings. Was that why you’d been so badly hurt? The gash on your arm was already stitching itself back together, but the pain remained, and you couldn’t take your eyes off that obsidian knife.

Suddenly, like a wave come out of nowhere, you felt your chest fill with an uncontrollable rage. Anger, rage, fury, all of them crammed your body, making you see red at that puny little human who had _dared_ take up an obsidian knife against you. How dare he. _How dare he_.

“You’re done”, you said in a voice that wasn’t yours, and the man, until then concentrated and fixed on his task, suddenly paled. His eyes filled with fear, pure undiluted primal fear, as if you were something bigger and more terrible than anything he’d seen before.

“Jade Skirt”, he muttered in horror, and then you fell on him, tearing him apart.

When Elizabeth arrived, the man was a bloody pile on the corner and you were out of breath, your arm still pulsating with a dull ache. Bloodstains splattered the floor and the walls, and Elizabeth sucked in a breath when she saw what was left of the monk.

“What have you done?”, she whispered. Your hands trembled.

“I don’t know, he… he attacked me and it hurt and… it all went fuzzy…”

Her eyes went to the charts, still resting upon the altar as if nothing could trouble them.

“We have to get out of here. We’ve caused enough of a ruckus and we can only hope that Sao Feng doesn’t learn of it before Will and the others get their way with him. Come!”

She grabbed the charts with one hand and your arm with the other and dragged you away from that cursed sanctuary, but even after the shattered body of the monk had disappeared from your view, you couldn’t get out of your head the feeling that something had gone very wrong in there. You _had_ wanted to kill the man, just like so many before him, so why did you feel… dirty? Like a puppet? Why had the sight of that obsidian knife enraged you so much? Was it the pain that you’d never experienced before? Or was it something else entirely?

You ran out of there, following Elizabeth, and even though the temple soon disappeared into the distance as you rowed away, its presence loomed over you, like oil over the sea, and you shivered.

Singapore was in chaos. Gunshots and exploding gunpowder filled the air as if it was some kind of crazy firework show. People ran here and there, screaming, chased by Sao Feng’s men and the occasional British soldier. You hadn’t expected them to find you so fast, but you couldn’t say you were surprised. Cheeky bastards.

One of them came running at you and Elizabeth as soon as you stepped out of the dinghy, but you put a bullet through his eyes before he could even graze you.

“Something has gone wrong”, you cursed, and dashed towards Sao Feng’s mansion. You should’ve met at the docks after Will and Barbossa had secured a ship and a crew from the Singaporean pirate, but clearly things hadn’t gone according to plan. The charts were securely tucked against your chest and you only had to be careful not to get a bullet in them with your usual recklessness.

You lost Elizabeth when you found the first group of British riflemen, some twelve guns pointed towards you, and you only managed to protect the charts by quickly ducking into a nearby hut. The gunpowder exploded against the wood, turning it into a storm of splinters that rained over you.

“Oh, you bastards. It’s on”, you smiled, spitting out bits of wood, and emerged from the broken hut like a spectre from hell, bringing blood and death with you, a maddening glimmer in your eyes. The poor bastards didn’t deserve to go down like that, but it was good to feel in control again after the unsettling experience at the temple.

Sao Feng’s mansion wasn’t better off. The door had been torn off its hinges and the wooden floor had sunk, leaving corpses strewn everywhere. You’d ran all the way here, zigzagging around the labyrinthine waterways of Singapore, and by this point you were covered in blood and dust and just wanted to lay down on the deck of your ship and rest.

Two women jumped at you from behind a folding screen, twins by the looks of it, and trained in the ways of death. But you were too damn tired of people trying to kill you today and the cut in your arm still throbbed, so you made sure this buffoonery was over quickly. You caught one of them by the arm, taking advantage of their slender body frame, and whirled around, kicking the second one in the chest and smashing her sister against her. The two women went flying, not without first throwing several small knives against you. Three of them hit their mark and you winced, remembering the cold bite of the obsidian blade, but wasted no time in wallowing in self-pity and charged at them.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t your forte, especially against somebody who had been clearly trained in martial arts, but you stood your ground as best you could against the twins. The two of them acted as one, punching and kicking with brutal efficiency, but your muscles were as taught as stone and your advance unstoppable. One of the women threw their fist at you, and you saw an opening and grabbed her wrist, twisting it in one motion until the bone snapped clearly off its socket. The woman shrieked in pain and when her sister turned towards her for a split second, you yanked her hair and with titanic strength turned her neck until you heard it crack.

Her lifeless body fell to the floor and you rushed out while the other twin cried over her. Your crew was clearly somewhere else and the meeting with Sao Feng must have gone south in the worst possible way. Once again on the streets, you ran across several bridges, following the shouts and the sounds of gunfire. The wooden pathways over the water were slick with the drizzle that had been consistently falling all day and you had to be careful not to slip.

Suddenly two figures caught your eye. Crouching inside one of the huts that lined the canals, they must have thought they were hidden from sight, but the light of candle that illuminated the room they were in gave them away.

It was Will Turner and a rather distasteful-looking man, whose face looked as if it had been burned off and reconstructed in a very wrong way. He wasn’t Singaporean, that’s for sure, so who was he? And what was Will so calmly discussing with him?

Someone breathed behind you and a hand settled down on your shoulder, and almost instinctively you yanked yourself away and sent your elbow back to strike your attacker, who managed to duck away just in time to avoid having his chest turned inside out.

“Calm down, tiger”, chuckled Barbossa. “You’ll take somebody’s eye out”.

You sighed.

“Fucking hell, Hector, don’t do that! I could’ve killed you!”

“I wouldn’t be the first time you tried”.

You pouted and mimicked a talking mouth with your hand.

“It wildn’t bi thi first time yi triid”.

“The English are here. We have to get away. Did you get the charts?”

“Elizabeth has them. She went to the docks. Did you get a ship?”

Barbossa grimaced. You turned your head but Will and the mysterious man were gone.

“Sao Feng saw through our story. Can’t imagine how!”

“Hector…”

“The charts are the most important part. We can get a ship anywhere else. Now let’s go”.

The little boat aboard which you’d made your way into Singapore had been blown to pieces by a rogue firework, and you found Elizabeth and Dalma arguing with Gibbs what their next step should be. You sighed when you saw she still had the charts. Everybody’s heads turned when they saw you and Barbossa arrive, but since you didn’t bring a ship in tow, the argument had to continue.

“British _and_ Singaporean! They’ll never let us leave!”

“We can’t dally anymore here or they’ll find us out”.

“No, we’re not leaving without Will!”, protested Elizabeth, hugging the charts tight.

“Your lover was the one to mess things up, Miss Swann”, intervened Barbossa angrily, “so you’ll forgive me I don’t wait up for him to show up. We leave, now!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Will’s voice startled all of you as he appeared with a smug expression on his face and a dozen of Sao Feng’s men behind him.

“Are you still in the business of double-crossing your friends, Turner?”, you asked, ready to fight.

“I’m not, and I don’t remember ever considering _you_ a friend to begin with”, he replied, not meeting your eyes. “Sao Feng will lend us this crew and one of his ships. There’s no time to lose!”

“Wait a minute, this sounds terribly fishy. Why would he do that? What have you offered him in return?”, you protested. Will only smiled weakly.

“Would you rather have no ship at all?”

Elizabeth looked at you and you felt a sort of kinship, of doubt at the game that Will was playing all by himself, but shouts in English signalled that Beckett’s men were near. The Chinese men smiled behind Will. This was very shady but it was the only choice you had.

“Lead us to the ship!”, you ordered them. “Now!!”

And so you left Singapore, adding one more token of enmity between you and Sao Feng. He wasn’t going to be pleased once he found out what had happened with his uncle’s temple, but it wasn’t the first (or likely the last) time you’d stolen from him. However, it wasn’t Will’s disreputable dealings that kept bothering you.

It was the temple.

The knife.

The little voice at the back of your mind that whispered that something weird had happened in there. That reminded you of the voice that had come out of your throat but wasn’t yours, of the way in which you’d ripped to pieces the body of the offending monk.

“Are you okay?”

Barbossa approached you as the ship sailed away from the burning city, reminding you of your first encounters aboard the _Pearl_ , and you let yourself slouch against him, your back on his chest. You sighed and looked up at his piercing blue eyes.

“Care for a ghost story?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so my take on AWE begins! I hope you enjoy it because the story is going to take some twists and turns and I'm introducing new lore - hold on tight and see you on Tuesday!  
> Thanks for reading!!


	38. At world's end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was my birthday so this is a lil treat for you all. Thanks for reading and commenting!! :D

“So you killed him?”

“It wasn’t that simple, Hector”, you hissed. “I’ve killed many people before and this… This was nothing like it. It was… primal, savage. Not even when I pillaged ships with the _Dutchman_ did I feel like this”.

Barbossa raised one of his eyebrows.

“As if somebody was pushing you to take him apart, you say?”

“Yeah. And there’s the business with the obsidian knife. It hurt!”, you said, pointing at the scar, which had faded into the patchwork of marks that covered your skin. “Why did it hurt?”

“You said yourself that obsidian is famously a material that doesn’t bode well for supernatural creatures, no? After everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t put it past this particular legend to be true. Relax, Beto. Aren’t you perhaps overthinking things?”

You pouted and looked at your arm. The pain was almost gone, but not forgotten. The feeling of strangeness still permeated every pore of your body. But perhaps Barbossa was right…

He took his hands in yours and gave you a little squeeze. You smiled gratefully and stroked his knuckles with your thumb. His hands were rough, full of calluses and sun marks, but they were also big and warm and made you want to lose yourself in them.

“Barbossa, you’re needed at the helm!”, shouted Will, shattering the moment. You could’ve throttled him as Barbossa got up and left you to deal with the turmoil of your feelings. With the charts, your assistance wouldn’t really be necessary until you reached the Locker, and you were more than happy to wait in the wings. Nobody had told Sao Feng’s crew exactly who you were, but from the way they looked at you, always from afar, always whispering, chances were that rumours had spread anyway. You smiled and waved at the men, startling them, and proceeded to clean your nails with one of your knives and think about more creative ways to scare the hell out of them for the duration of your voyage.

The _Hai Peng_ , for that was the name of the vessel that Sao Feng had lent Will, was a piece of actual rotting junk which was lucky to have a sail that stood up and sailed over the sea like a fish carcass, adrift where the currents would take it, which made travel considerably trickier. After leaving Indonesia, you were bound for days of nothing but sea for thousands of miles, and you prayed to every god that might listen to you that the piece of crap that was the _Hai Peng_ held together for long enough.

It creaked and cracked through the nights, which only made them even longer and more unbearable, if that was possible. The _Hai Peng_ was too small for _anything_ to happen in private, so you and Barbossa, who had been separated for over a year due to the silliest lack of communication in the history of mankind and were currently hornier than a three-peckered goat, had to be content with holding hands and stealing a kiss from time to time.

One week in, you were going to explode.

“Fancy some cards?”

Elizabeth looked up at you from inside her massive fur coat. The boat was closing up on the Antarctic circle, for that was where the charts marked the passage to the Farthest Gate, some fancy name for the entrance to the Locker. It had been tacitly agreed that Barbossa would take on the role of captain, which he did gleefully, and you didn’t resent it one bit. Being captain of a ship, especially with such a mismatched crew, half of who worked for someone else and the other half were waiting to tear your throat out, was more trouble than it was worth and you weren’t interested. Plus, with so much free time you’d managed to strike an unlikely friendship with the adventurous Miss Swann.

“You’ll beat me again”, she protested.

“Why do you think I’m so eager to play?”, you smiled, and she returned the smile, inviting you to sit by her side. You’d found a deck of cards tucked away in one of the ship’s corners and you and Elizabeth were burning them of so much use to scare away boredom.

Her hands trembled with the cold, but she held her cards still. You looked at your own hand, calculating every move that would take you to victory.

“So have we spoken to Young Turner yet?”

“No”, she replied curtly. She began, playing her weakest cards, but you were cautious. “Have you spoken to Barbossa yet?”

“He said I’m overthinking things. I haven’t brought up the subject again”. Your turn. You kept your best cards for later.

“Why are men always like that? Trouble will end up biting them in the ass if they’re not careful”.

“Language”, you laughed. Her turn.

“Do you really not know where we’re going?”, she asked.

“I know what it’s like when we get there, but I’ve never taken this path before. It’s as much uncharted territory for you as it is for me”.

“You don’t look scared”.

“I’m not particularly. Are you?”

“A bit”, she admitted. “Not so much scared as worried”.

“About the Locker? Or about Jack?”

The cards went still in her hand and you knew you’d touched upon a sore subject.

“I did what I had to do”, she muttered and played her turn. “It’s none of Will’s business”.

“I’ve sang that tune before and let me tell you something”, you said as you placed your card on top of hers, winning the round. “Don’t let it poison your relationship with Turner. If you really love him, try to talk it over. I didn’t take my chance when I had it and had to wait for nearly two years to get one again. Don’t make the same mistakes I did”.

And before Elizabeth could play her hand, you showed her the last card in yours: ace of diamonds. The victory was yours.

“I’m terrible at this game!”, she laughed. Her cheeks were rosy despite the cold, and when she smiled, two perfect dimples formed in them. She probably was the nicest and fluffiest person you knew.

“Go on, speak to Will. You’re dying to do it”.

She shook her head.

“Not yet. Not before we find Jack. I think I’ll go to have a rest”, she said before she left with tired expression on her face. Will wasn’t too far away, so you saw him follow her with his eyes, but soon enough another figure sat in her place, obscuring your vision.

“Did you cheat?”

“Of course I did. I’m offended that you feel the need to even ask”.

Barbossa laughed heartily and started shuffling the deck.

“We’re getting closer. The Farthest Gate is almost upon us”.

“You sound like a crazy doomsday messiah”, you teased him, and got up. He looked up at you and left the cards on the small table where you’d been playing. The sun had begun to go down and was almost hidden by the horizon. The sky was painted bloody, with the first stars timidly showing on the vault of heaven. You walked up to the furthest edge of the boat, taking your time, conscious that Barbossa was eating you up with his eyes. The Chinese crew were at the helm, near Will and Elizabeth, and the rest of Sparrow’s crew, plus Pintel and Ragetti, huddled in a makeshift tent they’d put up in the middle of the vessel. You were alone, finally, for the first time in weeks.

The sea was pitch black, like spilled wine, gently crashing against the hull of the _Hai Peng_ , and where others saw danger, you only saw beauty.

Barbossa hugged you from behind, his hands gripping your waist with hunger, and his lips kissed your neck, slowly, worshipping every inch of your skin. You shivered with pleasure at his warm breath against your nape, caressing you, and his mouth traced the curve of your neck, depositing kisses all the way up to your jaw and finally turning you around and catching your mouth with his.

You could taste his longing in the fire that animated that kiss. Your tongues entwined, as your fingers curled in anticipation and sank into his hair. He still held you fast against him, his laboured breathing making his chest bump into yours while a warm feeling began to grow between your legs. Gods, you wanted him so much.

“Trying you warm yourself up, Captain Barbossa?”, you chuckled.

“I’ve missed you”, he whispered in your ear, his voice heavy with desire, before his mouth closed again over yours.

“I’ve missed you too, Hector”, you muttered back, and as you kissed him once more, his hand slipped downwards inside your pants and you sucked in a breath.

There wasn’t much time nor intimacy for the both of you, but Hector Barbossa was a man who liked to do things properly and he would not rush your pleasure. The touch of his fingers against your underwear, feeling his way around, was good enough to make you go crazy, but your body wanted more and would not be satisfied just with that.

You rubbed against him, wanting his fingers deeper, inside you, no fabric separating you, and he felt you tensing, demanding more, and his self-control almost snapped.

He pushed you against the railing as his lips tangled with yours, and the decrepit wood of the _Hai Peng_ creaked dangerously. You would’ve laughed if you hadn’t been so lost in him, legs wobbly with the pleasure that was rippling through your body.

Hungry for more, Barbossa’s fingers soon found their way to your skin, caressing your lower belly until you buckled into him and he pressed inside you. You panted, wanting him deeper, and he kissed your neck, breathing roughly against your skin. The air was terribly cold, so his warm breaths made you shudder even more than they would normally do. You didn’t feel cold like everybody else did, but your skin got goosebumps anyway, although they might not have been from the chill…

Your slit was wet and throbbing and Barbossa drank you up. His thumb found your clit and as soon as he stroked it you saw sparks at the back of your eyes.

“Hector…”, you moaned at his ear, as your fingers tangled up with his hair. Even in such intimate circumstances, you both kept your hats on and their brims clashed. You felt his fingers tremble and go taut at his name on your lips, and soon he resumed moving.

He delved into you, his index and heart fingers curling inside you and hitting all the right spots, and you began to feel your orgasm building up. Your core pounded as your muscles clenched around his hand and his thumb worked harder and faster your clit, and when release came over you, you bit your lip to avoid crying out as you tumbled over the edge.

Not only the sex, but the thrill of having dared to do it there and then and the wait ever since you’ve first fallen into each other’s arms in Tia Dalma’s hut made this a more than memorable experience. You spent a few seconds leaning against Barbossa, taking in his scent of leather and salt and gunpowder, until you managed to catch your breath again, but had to bite your tongue again when he took his hand out of your pants with excruciating slowness, making sure to give a last caress to every part of you that was still tender and sensitive, provoking another shiver of pleasure to run through you, and without breaking eye contact with you, he licked his fingers clean.

“Am I interrupting something?”, asked Dalma.

“Jesus Christ!”, you yelled, jumping away from Barbossa and the voodoo sorceress who had appeared out of nowhere to ruin the mood. You turned to her with death in your stare and threw your hands into the air. “Read the fucking air, Dalma”.

“I have been, for some time now, but you seemed… busy”.

“I didn’t know you had a penchant for voyeurism, madam”, remarked Barbossa, who seemed as annoyed at the interruption as you, but Dalma didn’t mind him.

“A word, Meridith. In private”.

She glanced at Barbossa, who stood next to you. His hand brushed against yours very briefly, and then he silently moved away, but you knew he wasn’t done with you. You’d finish later what you’d started. If you could.

“I’m gonna kill you”, you groaned, but Dalma seemed unmoved. The tips of her dreadlocks were iced and her lips had been cracked by the cold, yet she looked beyond human distress.

“I heard what you told Barbossa about the temple”.

You tensed up.

“What about that”.

“You mentioned you were hurt by an obsidian knive”.

“Yes…”

“And that the priest called you ‘jade skirt’”.

“Where are you going with this, Dalma?”

You were beginning to be annoyed with the woman. You’d been trying to put the whole incident behind you, and the sorceress’s mystic ramblings weren’t going to help at all. She sized you up with those black eyes of hers, where a force that had nothing to do with the human world bided its time, waiting to be released to the wild again. They had always unsettled you because of how small and insignificant they made you feel, but this time, for the first time, you saw something new in them. Something you’d seen in the eyes of the monk at the temple.

You saw fear.

“Do you know what you are?”, Dalma asked you, her voice carefully neutral.

“Maybe”, you lied. Calypso, goddess of the ocean, was afraid of you? Why?

“Don’t trust them, Meridith. You will doom us all if you do”.

“I don’t know what you mean”.

“You will, in time. There’s a cost to everything, child. For what we want most, there’s a price to be paid”.

“Is that what you tell yourself at night, Calypso?”, you spat. She had the nerve to wear Jones’s pendant on her chest, its familiar shape reminding you of everything you’d left behind on the _Dutchman_. “Is that how you’ve made your peace with what you did to my father?”

She looked at the water, eyes full of longing. It took her a while to answer, and even then her voice trembled. She’d never seemed so human to you.

“He wouldn’t have loved me if I was anything but what I was”.

“Maybe that was the price you had pay. You wanted to have everything and ended up with nothing”.

And with that you walked away, ice and snow swirling around you like a frozen silk curtain.

“Just admit you’re lost”, pleaded Elizabeth, but Barbossa merely smiled smugly and shifted the rudder. The _Hai Peng_ turned, narrowly avoiding a rogue iceberg.

“It’s the charts”, explained Will. “Nothing in them is set, they’re not as accurate as modern charts”.

“A very handy way of saying we’re lost!”

He kept turning the concentric circles that made up the heart of the charts, mixing and matching the drawings in impossible combinations that gave no real directions whatsoever.

“They may be ancient, but they lead to more places”, said one of the Chinese men. Elizabeth looked sceptical.

“Trust me, Master Turner”, added Barbossa with an entertained expression upon his face, his eyes turned towards you, “it’s not getting to the land of the dead that’s the problem. It’s getting back”.

A massive iceberg stood before you, towering over the tiny vessel like an alabaster spire. As the ship neared it, you realised it was hollow: its two sides rose up creating an enormous gateway, and beyond it, in stark contrast to the rest of the snow-white world you’d been sailing through, pure darkness. You all held your breath.

“The Farthest Gate”.

“World’s End”.

You swallowed hard and a tiny smile formed on your lips.

“The Locker”.


	39. The Farthest Gate

The _Hai Peng_ glided over liquid night. There was no other way to describe it.

There was no difference between the water and the sky; everything was black, dotted with stars and fleeting flashes of light that might as well have been swimming around you. The universe itself, with all its constellations, seemed to be closing down on the ship, nearer to the water than it had any right to be. It was as unsettling as it was entrancing, the most beautiful and the most terrifying sight you’d ever laid eyes on at the same time.

Silence enveloped everything. Not even the water splashed the hull of the _Hai Peng_ , as if you were sailing over oil. Only your crew’s soft breathing broke the spell of eternity that the Farthest Gate spun over any who dared enter it. You looked out, at the place where the horizon should be, but it was pitch black. Your nails dug into the bannister of the ship. Would it work? Would you really be able to make it to the Locker? And then… would you be able to bring them back?

“Starting to feel like home yet?”, said Ragetti, who appeared suddenly by your side, startling you.

“No”, you replied, shaking your head. “This place shouldn’t be called home by anyone. It’s… beautiful, I guess. As beautiful as death itself. I don’t trust this place. It feels too much like a last goodbye”.

Ragetti and Pintel shared a quizzical look. You did sound a bit insane, but it was true that the place invited all sorts of philosophical discourse. It was disquieting.

“I’m sorry to be of so little help”, you offered with a half-smile. “When we’re there I’ll finally be able to guide you”.

“One can’t argue with magic!”, said Pintel, throwing his hands into the air. “Never like it meself, but nothing I can do about that now”.

“So this is not the Locker then?”, asked Ragetti.

“No, not yet”.

“Then what’s that?”

The lanky pirate stretched out a bony finger and you followed it with your gaze, right into the water that surrounded the _Hai Peng_.

You had to force your eyes through the impenetrable darkness that enveloped everything, but then you saw a ripple in the water’s surface. And then another.

There was something in the water.

“Get back”, you whispered at the two pirates, who immediately jumped behind you as if they feared that whatever was stalking the boat would pounce on them to devour them.

But nothing pounced out of the water.

The ripples continued, almost rhythmically, and you realised it wasn’t so much following the ship as _observing_ it from a distance. At the other end of the boat, Barbossa majestically held the rudder of the _Hai Peng_ , steering it as straight as he could within the nothingness that was the Farthest Gate, while the crew slept strewn here and there. The cold had receded as soon as you’d left the Pole, so Elizabeth had shed her thick coats and was looking at you with curiosity. Tia Dalma stood in the middle of the ship, like an ebony statue, her gaze fixed ahead of you.

Nobody had noticed that you had company.

“What is it?”, muttered Pintel, grabbing onto your shoulder. Ragetti sounded equally worried.

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. If it wanted to hurt us, it would’ve done it already”.

Another ripple, and a glimmer of light reflected from two yellow eyes that stared at you from beneath the dark waters.

You flinched back, and the momentum made Pintel and Ragetti lose their footing and all three of you went down onto the floor of the _Hai Peng_. The racket woke everybody up and soon the crew was looking at you trying to get up, stepping on Pintel’s stomach or grabbing Ragetti’s face to push yourself back up.

“What on heaven’s name is going on here?”, asked Gibbs with his hands on his hips.

“I suggest you don’t invoke that name quite so lightly here, Mr. Gibbs”, you puffed, but by the time you managed to look over the bannister, the water was still again and whatever you’d seen was gone.

You knew of creatures that prowled the waters of the Locker, beings that living humans were not meant to lay eyes on, but this was unknown to you. You’d have to ask Jones next time you had the chance.

Thinking about your father cast a sudden pall over your mood. You certainly hadn’t been dallying and as soon as you had Sparrow you’d be closer to free Calypso and hope that she’d hold up her end of the bargain, but still… It was difficult to wish for speed when you depended on a piece of junk like the _Hai Peng_ , especially when you were used to the _Dutchman_ , the fastest ship in the seven seas. You wondered how you father would be holding up. Would he still play his organ? Was he eating well? Did he miss you?

“What’s that?”

“Not again, shut up!”

Ragetti’s voice brought you back to reality and your ears caught a sound that finally, _finally_ was familiar.

It also wasn’t good.

“Oh”.

The crew turned towards you.

“Oh? What does ‘oh’ mean? We don’t want ‘oh’s from you, not here”, said Gibbs. At the helm, Barbossa smiled and turned the rudder one last time. The _Hai Peng_ started to turn on its axis while a muffled rumbling started to pound ahead of the ship.

Everybody had to hold onto something to avoid falling to the floor or into the water.

“Hey, Barbossa! What was that about!?”, shouted Elizabeth.

“We’re good and lost now”, the man smiled.

“Lost!?”

“You have to be lost to find a place as can’t be found”.

“We’re gaining speed!”, shouted Gibbs, looking at the water.

“I suggest you hold on tight, Miss Swann”, replied Barbossa with a grin. “We’re in for some curves”.

“I know where we are”, you told Ragetti and Pintel. “I’ve seen this place before, only… always from below”.

“Below?? What does that mean?”

“If there’s a below… then there must be an above and we’re…”, reasoned Ragetti, reaching the only possible conclusion.

“To stations! All hands to stations!”, yelled Will.

“Hold on and don’t let go”, you said, and dashed for Barbossa. The men scrambled to get a hold on something, some going as far as tying themselves to the sail or to the railings, but Barbossa merely grabbed the rudder, smiling like a madman. The charts must’ve told him what was about to happen, so you and him were the only who weren’t horrified when the waterfall finally appeared before you.

The sound of the water falling to the other world was deafening, an eternal precipice that spilled wave after wave into the abyss, with no end in sight either way. It was the sound of the beginning and the end of everything, the one point of the world where time and space converged and nothing mattered anymore.

And the _Hai Peng_ was sailing right into it.

“Turn around!”, yelled Elizabeth, but it was too late. “Barbossa, turn around!!”

“Belay that!”, he shouted. “Let her run straight and true!”

Will looked at you as you reached Barbossa and took his arm, your eyes glinting with excitement.

“You’ve doomed us all!”, he shouted, but then the _Hai P_ eng buckled with the crash of the first waves that would lead you to the fall and he almost fell from the ship.

“Doom is the only way into the Locker, Mr. Turner!”, you replied, as another crash shook the tiny ship. “Enjoy the way down!”

The current was stronger than the ship and, with one last crash, the _Hai Peng_ and all its crew tumbled down the waterfall into oblivion.

A jet of water hit you square in the face, tearing you away from Barbossa, who tried to hold your hand, but the blow was too strong and you flew away, hitting the end of the waterfall with a thud, the water biting into your flesh like the obsidian knife had in Singapore, and as you battled the suffocating feeling of drowning, of the dark liquid penetrating your body through your mouth, your nose and your eyes, a woman’s face flashed before your eyes.

A face full of pain and tears, or perhaps raindrops. A ship amid a storm, its mast breaking, its hull cracking. Your lungs burned like they’d never burnt before and you tore at your throat, trying to break the surface, to get some air, but the current pulled you under. Floating bodies, suspended in water forever, sinking to the bottom of the ocean, never to see the sun again. A man, a woman, a newborn baby that tried to cry, only to take in a mouthful of water.

You realised you were drowning.

You were dying.

The baby died, and as it died, two arms closed around it, wrapping it in a shroud of water and shadow.

As it died, the baby started to live.

A baby crying in a deserted beach in Davy Jones’ Locker.

You closed your eyes and fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today! Thanks for reading and if you're enjoying it please comment! It gives me lifeee :D


	40. We're all mad down here

“Beto!”

Your name reached your ears as though through water. It was muffled, almost distorted, and your head hurt. A splitting headache made opening your eyes impossible, however much you tried, for there were brilliant flashes of sunlight that burned your retinas.

“Beto!”

You emerged from the water, gaping like a fish in the air, and immediately two hands got hold of you and pulled you up by your armpits. The Locker’s sun hit you in the face with the force of ten gales and you would’ve thrown up then and there, but you were too busy suffocating to do it.

There was water in your nose, there was water in your mouth, there was water in your lungs, and everything was on fire. Every breath you took set your whole body aflame as the air refused to enter your lungs and you could only gape and gesticulate.

“I think she’s suffocating!”

“Don’t be daft, she’s undead, she can’t suffocate!”

“She’s beginning to turn purple”.

“Maybe it’s a trick of the light”.

Thankfully for you, Barbossa acted quicker than either Pintel or Ragetti and violently thrust his hands against your abdomen, making you vomit at once all the water that had been lodged inside you.

You took a deep breath like it was the first time ever you were tasting clean air, and then another, until you were satisfied that you wouldn’t asphyxiate and your heartbeat returned to normal.

Your legs buckled and Barbossa’s hands around your waist were the only thing that kept you from falling back into the shallow waters of the beach you’d landed in. Travelling to and from the Locker was never pleasant and your body knew it well, but it had never been this traumatic. You certainly preferred the _Dutchman_ ’s way, which didn’t involve freefalling from a fucking _waterfall_.

“I _was_ suffocating, you oafs!”, you managed to shout finally. The two pirates shared a mortified look.

“Sorry”, Ragetti said, patting you on the back, and discreetly shuffled towards the shore.

Before you stretched out an endless beach of pale sand, without a single tree in sight, vaulted by an equally pale sky. It was bizarrely neutral, almost artificial, as if someone had carefully chosen every bit of the landscape to mimic the real world without ever having set foot on it. It was close, but it was _wrong_.

It was the Locker.

Barbossa’s hands roamed up to your breasts and you gave him a half smile.

“Looking for something, Captain…?”, but stopped halfway when you turned and didn’t see him smiling.

“You have a heartbeat”, he muttered.

You grimaced. Being in the Locker had some unfortunate side effects which always made you feel so much more fragile. Luckily, nobody had been there to witness them… until now.

You stepped away from him, hugging yourself as an instinctive protective gesture.

“Yeah… It’s the Locker, innit? Everything’s upside down here. The other way round. ‘Up is down’, said the charts, remember? That includes me. I’m dead in the world of the living… and I’m alive in the world of the dead. Magic again, I suppose”.

You’d never said that out loud to anybody. Strangely enough, being just ‘undead’ made you at least fit with the crew of the _Dutchman_ , made you feel like you belonged. It was even plausible in a world full of curses and of ghost ships. But this non-existence of yours, being out of place even in the domains of the dead… You were an alien, with a foot in two worlds and a soul in neither.

Barbossa stared at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart quickened at an unbearable pace and your cheeks flushed. All the sensations that your undead body couldn’t experience on the other side suddenly flooded you and you had to look away from the ex-captain of the _Pearl_. The water of the shallows gently splashed at your feet, covering up to your calves. Around you, the crew of the _Hai Peng_ laboriously made their way out of the water.

And then, as if still in a haze, Barbossa took your face in his hands and pressed his forehead against yours. You didn’t even have time to see him advance until he was cupping your cheeks and tracing the curve of your jaw and your breasts. Your face immediately turned scarlet, and he laughed.

“You’re warm…”, he repeated and kissed your neck. “This is unbelievable”.

“You don’t think I’m a monster?”

“You’re the worst monster of them all, and I _like it_ ”.

You laughed heartily, a bigger weight than you’d known lifting off your chest, and kissed Barbossa. He replied in kind, and you wrapped your arms around him, locked in the deepest of kisses, your skin warm and soaked by the sea, and for the first time you really understood what being alive was.

“Where’s Jack?”, shouted Elizabeth from the shore, and you had to reluctantly break away from Barbossa.

The beach was empty indeed, no sign of the mad pirate or his ship, and everybody turned to you, expecting an answer.

“The ways of the Locker are inscrutable”, you explained, hoping to sound mysterious enough to ward off more questions. “Jack must be here somewhere”.

“We must find him before the sun falls and rises again”, said Dalma. The sun was high up on the sky, bearing down on all the stranded pirates. “Otherwise we’ll never get out of the Locker”.

“Says who?”, you protested. “This is not a city harbour, it doesn’t have schedules, ma’am. We may leave as we please”.

“The Locker has _rules_ ”, she insisted.

“Rules are made to be broken. Don’t we know that well?”

“Not to interrupt what seems a very interesting discussion”, chipped in Ragetti, “but am I the only one who can hear that?”

“Hear what?”

But the pirate was right. A muffled rumbling was approaching the coastline from behind the dunes, massive sand structures that prevented you from seeing what was happening behind them. You all looked at each other, as if expecting the worst, when even the ground itself began to shake.

And then, sailing over the dune and into the sea on a wave of stone crabs (yes, stone crabs, and that wasn’t even the weirdest thing you’d even seen in the Locker), the _Pearl_ appeared, as dark and majestic as you remembered it, with Jack Sparrow at the helm.

Words failed you and you could only gape at the unexpected entry the pirate had made, silently thanking the Locker for not making you look a fool and allowing you to find him quickly without having to drudge around endlessly, having to face the weirdness of the Locker’s waters. The wave of crabs that carried the _Pearl_ broke against the shallows and the animals were sprayed everywhere, but it wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of one of them hiding under Dalma’s skirt that you understood who’d sent them. The sorceress smiled at you and you made an obscene gesture in return.

“Boat”, said Ragetti, pretty much summing up everybody’s thoughts.

“Yeah, mate”, you replied, wearily. “Boat indeed”.

A figure disembarked through a rope that dangled at the side of the _Pearl_ and started making for the water-sodden group with its usual swagger.

“Slap me thrice and hand me to me mama. It’s Jack!”, Gibbs cried out in happiness. He was the only one to express any excitement at seeing his captain. Elizabeth looked constrained; she clearly wanted to follow the First Mate, but her guilt prevented her from doing it. Everybody else just looked sour. ‘Did nobody come here because they missed the man?’, you thought.

Jack didn’t look any more pleased to see you lot.

“Mr. Gibbs!”, he shouted as soon as he was within earshot. “I expect you’re able to account for your actions”.

“Sir?”

“There’s been a perpetual and virulent lack of discipline upon my vessel. Why?”

“Sir, you’re… You’re in Davy Jones’ Locker, cap’n”.

Jack’s nostrils flared, like a hamster probing his new surroundings. He looked very sane, indeed. His attention soon shifted from Gibbs to the sorceress, who didn’t look any more at ease on the beach than she’d looked aboard the _Hai Peng_.

“I know where I am, thank you. Tia Dalma! Out and about, hey? You add an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium”.

“He thinks we’re an hallucination”, said Will.

“Jack, this is real”, said Elizabeth, walking to the front row. Jack stumbled upon seeing her, for once at a loss for words. You could only imagine how much courage Elizabeth must’ve needed to look so calm. “We’ve come to rescue you”.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you. But it would seem that as I possess a ship and you don’t, you’re the ones in need of rescuing and I’m not sure as I’m in the mood”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. I see my ship, right there”, said Barbossa, pointing at the _Pearl_. Jack approached him and poked him a bit, as if to make sure he was real, then squinted at the horizon.

“Can’t spot it. Must be a tiny little thing hiding somewhere behind the _Pearl_ ”.

“And where exactly do you think you’re sailing your ship to, Sparrow?”, you asked, speaking up for the first time.

The group opened up around you, the one true denizen of the Locker, and Jack stared at you with a strange kind of lucidity. He didn’t seem as fazed as when he’d seen Gibbs, Dalma or Elizabeth, but rather he looked _into_ you, if such a thing were possible. Had the Locker managed to make him go even madder?

“If it isn’t the Jade Skirt herself”. Again that damned nickname. What was up with that? “I suppose you’ve deigned to come here yourself to indicate us the way out to assuage your guilt-ridden soul, is that it?”

“Cutler Beckett has the heart of Davy Jones. He’s taking over the seas”. You didn’t have time for small talk. Surprisingly, Dalma came to your aid.

“The song has already been sung. The Brethren Court is called”.

“I leave you people alone for five minutes and look what happens. Everything’s gone to pot”.

“That’s why we need you back, Jack!”, cried Gibbs.

“And you need a crew”, added Will.

“And why would I sail with any of you? Four of you have tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded”.

Something told you he wasn’t talking about you. Elizabeth seemed to become smaller when Will opened his eyes in surprise and turned towards her. By the gods, why didn’t those two just speak once and for all?

“Oh, she didn’t tell you”, Jack smiled. “You’ll have loads to talk about while you’re here”.

He proceeded to pick and choose who he’d allow on the _Pearl_ , although you suspected he wouldn’t have much of a choice, really. Poor Ragetti was left out (too scary for Jack’s taste, apparently), as well as Barbossa, and Cotton’s parrot was in a rather unstable position, but the Chinese crew and their commander, Tai Huang, were immediately on board, happy to serve the only owner of an actual ship around those parts.

He then turned to you.

“We still have the charts, Jack”, pointed out Barbossa, holding the rolled-up map, which had miraculously survived the waterfall, but the captain of the _Pearl_ had focused his attention on you.

“We don’t need the charts. We have her”.

“That’s a lot of trust in me all of a sudden, Jack”, you said.

“Not in you, love. Not in _you_. This is going to be an interesting trip for both of us. I can only hope that we both get to the end of it alive”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, chapter 40 already... How time flies!  
> Thanks for reading and if you're enjoying please leave a comment! It makes my day!


	41. A good man

“Trim that sail! Slack windward brace and sheet!”

“Trim that sail! Slack windward brace and sheet!”

“Haul the pennant line!”

“Haul the pennant line!”

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“No, what are _you_ doing?”

Barbossa and Jack looked like a comical duo of puppets out of a cheap saloon show, dancing to an identical tune only with a lag of a few seconds, and you half wondered whether it wouldn’t be more practical to lock them up in the captain’s cabin and throw away the key.

“You’re very quiet all of a sudden”.

Elizabeth came to lean at your side on the banister as the _Pearl_ sailed away from the pale beach.

“Somebody should be, and it doesn’t seem likely it’ll be them”, you grinned, but your smile soon faded.

From the deck of the ship you could see a crystal-white desert stretch out beyond the dunes of the beach. It looked like purgatory.

“What do you think of that beach?”, you asked her.

“It doesn’t feel right. Nothing does, here. But such is the way of the Locker, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“I was born there”.

She looked at you, startled, but you wouldn’t tear your eyes from the shore that slowly melted into the horizon.

“Davy Jones found me there as a newborn babe. Imagine that, a living, crying baby in Davy Jones’ Locker”.

You laughed, but Elizabeth didn’t. She bit her lip, something you noticed she tended to do when she was nervous.

“What made Davy Jones want to adopt a baby? No offense”.

“None taken. The gods know”, you shrugged. “Maybe he wanted a challenge. Maybe he was so weirded out by the little yelling blob of flesh that he wanted to know more about it. Maybe… maybe he just liked me. I can only say I’m glad he did. I’d be rotting here like Jack otherwise. I’d probably lost my mind by now”.

“You really love him”.

“Jack?”

“Davy Jones”.

“He’s my father”, you smiled. “But yes, I do. It’s an honour to be his First Mate and to sail aboard the _Dutchman_ with him, of course, but I suppose I also know a side of him that nobody else does”.

“I must say it’s hard to imagine Davy Jones as a loving parent”, she replied, and you both laughed, pushing each other around. Barbossa and Jack, currently engaged in a pissing contest over who could yell loudest or had the longest spyglass, turned briefly to look at you and then resumed their fight.

“Oh, he was strict, mind you. But I always was more strongheaded than him and ended up getting my way. I can be quite insufferable when I want to”.

“I can believe that”.

“Oi!”

You laughed again. The sun had begun to set and the sky filled with a bloodshot twilight.

“He’s great at playing the organ, although I don’t particularly like it, and he’s very good at dice. Not as much as me, though. He always read to me when I was a kid and answered every question I had, and they were many, believe me. He gifted me my first sword and these earrings…”

You stroked lovingly the coral earrings that you always wore and had to bite back your tears. You missed your father so much, and only now that you might lose him did you realise how much he really meant for you. Elizabeth listened to you reminisce and saw your pain, but showed you there was no need to pretend with her. You were in the same boat. She hugged you tightly and her proximity soothed you.

“He sounds like a good man”, she said after you thanked her. “Why did he end up like… well, like that?”, she asked, mimicking some tentacles.

“Did she tell you nothing?”, you pointed with your head towards Tia Dalma, who stood next to the helm, looking at the charts with the Chinese crew, Will and Barbossa.

“That he fell in love with the sea, or with a woman like the sea, but she caused him too much pain to endure, so he chose to cut out his own heart rather than suffer for her”.

“Hah!” Your laugh was dry and sour. “At least she acknowledges her role in it. Tell me, Elizabeth, are you a gods-fearing woman?”

“Funny that you’d ask me that after the whole business with the _Pearl_ and the curse”.

“I thought as much. You see, in the days of myth and legend, there was the beautiful Calypso, daughter of Atlas, a goddess who ruled the wine-dark seas, and all sailors everywhere both loved and feared her, but one more than the rest of them. And she loved him back, or so she said. So she gave him the _Flying Dutchman_ and the gift of immortality, and he’d have the sacred task of collecting all the souls who died at sea and ferrying them to the worlds beyond. The only condition was that he wouldn’t be able to set foot on dry land but once every ten years. But he loved her more than he loved himself. And so he accepted. And for ten years he carried out his task, dreaming of the day when he’d be once again with his love. But when the day came and he disembarked to meet her… She wasn’t there”.

“You can’t tame the sea”, said a voice behind you.

Dalma’s eyes pierced you, but they’d lost the superhuman sparkle that they’d once had. She was still scared, still shook from the waterfall, and above all she was sad. But your heart had been hardened from too many years seeing your father pine for that wasted chance.

“Then maybe the sea isn’t worth loving at all”.

“So he tore out his own heart to escape the pain of heartbreak?”, asked Elizabeth, carefully studying your faces. She wasn’t stupid and had probably understood the truth beneath the story.

“Aye”, you replied. “That he did. But don’t believe the stories, Elizabeth. That does not make him heartless. He has a bigger heart than many, only misplaced, broken too many times”.

Elizabeth muttered under her breath something along the lines that technically it _did_ make him heartless, but decided against voicing it out loud lest you or Dalma ended up taking it out on her. A fourth figure approached you and cleared his throat and Elizabeth went rigid.

Will Turner gave you and Dalma a wide berth, not bothering to hide how little he liked and trusted you, and shot Elizabeth a meaningful look. They’d been dancing around each other for weeks now, and Elizabeth’s guilt was eating her inside out.

“Go”, you told her, nudging her lightly. “Talk to him. It’ll do you good”.

She might even find out what the hell Will had agreed with Sao Feng in Singapore.

The girl squeezed your hand gratefully one last time and left with Will, disappearing into the bowels of the _Pearl_. Even if you didn’t like the boy much, they were well matched.

“Why are you still wearing that pendant?”

Your question stopped Dalma dead in her tracks and she turned to you. The sun was almost gone and the pinkish light of the twilight was giving way to the darkness of night. Night in the Locker could mean many things, and none of them particularly good. Below you, in the waters upon which the _Pearl_ sailed, shadowy creatures tailed the vessel.

“Don’t presume to know anything about my heart”, she said, clutching the crab-shaped pendant.

“So you have one, then? Was it a novelty that you got when the Brethren bound you into these human bones?”

“I always loved him! Even now, I do, but I do not expect you to understand”. Her accent was thicker than ever.

“You’re right. I don’t understand. Not this twisted game that you call love. I can’t blame my father for putting his heart in a box”. At this she flinched, and you savoured your victory.

“You’re very brave or very stupid, Meridith Jones, speaking to me like that. When I am free…”

“You’ll do as you promised, Calypso. You know how oaths work and how destiny hates to be cheated”.

Your eyes clashed in a standoff that could’ve rocked the ship with the strength of your wills, and it might have escalated further had something not splashed in the water. Calypso jumped back, almost like a feral animal, to the safety of the deck, away from any place from where the water could watch her.

“What are you so afraid of…?”, you asked, and looked into the sea.

With the dying light you could still see shapes in the water; dark, elongated figures that appeared and disappeared, ever shifting. Water wraiths, most likely, unnerving but not dangerous unless one bothered them. But then there was a flash of scales and a pair of yellow eyes and you shuddered.

Leaving Dalma to herself, alone with her fear, you stalked up to the helm, where Barbossa and Jack were arguing over the charts, with the boss of the Chinese crew observing them with scepticism.

“We have to get everybody inside the _Pearl_ ”, you said. Not a question, not a suggestion. It was an order.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want to be out there when things start appearing in the water, believe me. You humans are nothing but _nosy_ and you know how curiosity killed the cat. Quite literally, in this case”.

“Things? What things?”, asked the Chinese pirate.

“Well, that’s awfully reassuring”, sighed Gibbs.

“Yes, yes, very well, you can be sarcastic inside”, you hurried them.

“You heard her, everybody inside! To your bunks in the hold, yer blooming cockroaches!”, yelled Barbossa. To nobody’s surprise, Jack had been the first to scuttle to the belly of the _Pearl_ as soon as he heard your warning. The desert had messed enough with his mind; he needed little encouragement to get as far away from the Locker’s funny business as possible.

The men emptied the deck as the sun finally disappeared into the horizon, and once you made sure nobody but one or two stragglers were left on top, you made for the hatch to the hold, but Barbossa stopped you, grabbing your arm.

“Not there. I have somewhere else in mind for us”.

Gently he led you to the captain’s cabin, where a lifetime ago you’d broken in to wait until a certain cursed pirate found you.

“You once told me I’d never shown you where I slept”, he grinned, answering the look of confusion you gave him. “So I’d like to make amends to that”.

“Would you now”, you replied with a wolfish grin, and threw yourself in his arms and kissed him.

He kissed you back, delighting in the feel of your warm body, the blood flowing through your veins making every sensation increase tenfold, the blush in your cheeks. You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting him carry you, and he opened the door to the cabin with a kick, blindly fumbling around as his hands were tucked around your thighs, holding you in place. The doors slammed open with a crash and you tumbled inside, kicking things out of the way.

You exchanged more kisses than you could count, hungry and demanding, and at one point his hand shifted from your legs to your neck, tangling up in your hair and pushing you harder against him.

You were used to the difference between your body in the living world and in the Locker, and usually preferred the latter because it was less of a hassle – less physical stuff to worry about – but you’d never experienced anything like this with a full living body and the cascade of sensations was threatening to pull you under.

Barbossa dropped you onto the table, which quivered with a squeaky lament, but you barely noticed it. Every part of your skin that his fingers grazed caught on fire and blood rushed through your veins, heightening the feeling of his breath on your neck, his lips against yours, his body pulsating under you. You fumbled with his shirt as your hands tried to unclasp the leather baldric he always wore. His guns fell to the floor with a metallic crash.

“Careful with the goods, ma’am”, he grinned as he undid the buttons of your vest with his teeth, almost pulling them out.

“I could say the same thing”, you returned the smirk, but it was cut short as soon as his mouth reached your breast, even over the soft fabric of your shirt, and bit softly on your nipple.

You moaned as your nipples got harder, shivering under his touch and the grazing of his teeth, and your toes curled at the thought of that touch all over your body. Your core pulsated as warmth crept in, demanding more, and he must have felt the same way, for when he pushed against you to kiss you harder, driving you into the table, you felt his erection fumbling against your skin.

“Hector”, you groaned, wrapping your legs even harder around his waist so your crotch came to lie against the bulge in his pants. You felt him twitch and almost become undone at the touch, and indulged in that sensation.

“Meridith…”

Your name on his lips was sweeter than all the gold in the world and you couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. In spite of everything, you were so happy your chest could burst.

Another jolt of pleasure rushed through you as Barbossa pounded against you once more. The table almost gave way and teetered, all the books and quills and glasses on top of it crashing to the ground with a racket. Someone downstairs was probably wondering what the hell was going on in the captain’s cabin, but if they hadn’t realised already, they would for sure in the next few minutes.

With one hand cupping your cheek, Barbossa lowered his other hand and placed it between your inner thighs. You moaned, shuddering at the combination of his deft fingers and your pants rubbing against your already wet slit, and instinctively lifted your hips. Barbossa’s pace quickened and you felt the dampness spread through your nether parts. Your clit pulsated, each stroke of the fabric against it shaking your body with pleasure, but you were getting tired of games.

It was time to get serious.

Your hands had been roaming through Barbossa’s chest, trying to pry his shirt loose from the belt and breeches, with your nails occasionally driving into his skin every time his mouth closed around your breast, tracing the contour of its shape with his tongue, but you changed your mind and they slipped under his pants with a swift movement. Barbossa groaned as your fingers traced the whole length of him, still contained within his pants, and then clasped it firmly.

He didn’t pull back his hand from your crotch, which made you smile as you sat up and gently kissed him on the lips.

“Excited, Captain Barbossa?”, you asked in your sultriest voice, as your fingers caressed him up and down, taking in every inch of his cock. He twitched in your hand, but you had the power. Barbossa breathed heavily and swallowed.

“And what exactly do you plan on doing now?”

“What do you want me to do?”

The tip of your index unhurriedly travelled across his length, taking its time, until it reached the tip of Barbossa’s cock, already wet and pleading.

“Come on, say it”, you dared him.

“I want you to suck my cock”, he said finally, not without an effort. “I want your mouth on me”.

“How badly do you want it?”

“Just do it already, goddammit”.

You were having too much fun teasing him, seeing him melt down between your fingers, and you sat up until his back was straight and your faces were level with each other. Your breath mingled with his, visible in the untimely chill night air of the Locker. He’d almost ripped your shirt open and it opened down to your belly button, the deepest cleavage you’d ever worn with a hint of the curve of your breasts at the edge of the fabric. Stark over your left breast, a brutal gunshot scar peeked out.

You laughed lightly and edged nearer to him, kissing him on the lips and starting a descent through his chest. Your hands caressed every bit of skin you found, worshipping every mark and every scar and every tattoo, and Barbossa shuddered under your touch. You untangled your legs from his waist and slid down from the table, almost directly onto your knees, but didn’t withdraw your mouth, which, with excruciating slowness, began to find its way to the pirate’s groin.

His belt had been unclasped a while ago and your tongue traced the contours of his hip bones while your hand played with his twitching cock, slick with precum and begging to have your mouth on it.

Barbossa stumbled and had to hold onto the edge of the table to keep stable. You looked up from your position and the sight of the powerful captain of the _Black Pearl_ , a man so evil Hell itself spat him back out, who’d fought against an Aztec curse and a kraken and won, so dishevelled and undone and overtaken by his desire of _you_ almost made you lose your mind.

“I love you so much”, you said, before pulling down his breeches and kissing his cock on the tip, and then at the side, all the way down to the base, where a tuft of dark curly hair heaved. You licked him, swallowing all the fluid he’d spent, as your hands caressed his inner thighs, making him taut, every muscle in his body in tension. He trembled and moaned your name, and you felt a fire kindle within you, a desire that eclipsed everything, and after leaving some last kisses on his thighs, like a prayer before the object of their adoration, you returned to his cock and took him whole in your mouth.

He groaned, clasping your hair between his fingers, and he closed his eyes. He smelled like salt and gunpowder and sex, that scent you’d know anywhere and still wouldn’t be able to describe for the life of you. It turned you on more than you could tell and you felt your cunt throb, missing Barbossa’s fingers inside you.

His cock jerked in your mouth as you sucked him, your tongue drawing figures and playing with it while you moved up and down. With one hand you massaged the base of his dick, accompanying the movement of your mouth, while with the other you fondled his testicles and caressed his thighs.

Barbossa’s knees buckled, but he managed to keep upright by leaning on the table. He looked down at you, his blue eyes locking with yours, and you deliberately trailed the whole length of his cock with your tongue, not once breaking eye contact. He quivered, gaze heavy with lust, and his hand grabbed your hair even more tightly. You felt the tension building up within him, as it was inside you, your core and pants flooded already, and returned to his member, accelerating the tricks with your tongue and the movement of your mouth around him.

He threw his head back, moaning your name with abandon, as if he didn’t care that anybody might hear, and he was near, he was getting so near.

“I’m going to come, Meridith”, he managed to mutter. His voice was breaking by the second. “Shit, I’m going to… Aaaah… Meridith… Meridith!”

He managed to get out of your mouth just as release hit him. His body convulsed and his eyelids fluttered while his groans turned into an incoherent mumbling, and you deposited one last kiss on the tip of his cock, now sticky with cum, before you stood up and leaned against his chest, licking your lips. You were getting to know him, how his body worked and how to make him really enjoy your encounters, but what you hadn’t expected was to derive that much pleasure of giving it to him. Seeing him so undone, having surrendered to you, had made you tingle all over and even while you’d had your mouth around him you’d almost felt a wave of release yourself, trembling while your pirate came atop you.

He looked sweaty but satisfied as he took you by the nape, caressing your hair and skin with his thumb.

“You know how to make a man scream your name, Miss Jones”.

“I try my best, captain”. Your eyelashes fluttered.

“I feel I’d be letting you down if I didn’t return the favour”. His hand began to roam to your crotch and under your own breeches, finding you soaking wet and more than ready for him. You bit your lip when you felt his fingers again and he’d never looked more pleased with himself. “You seem to be quite eager already”.

“I want you inside me, Hector”, you said, no beating around the bush. “And I want you now”.

“You’re so foul-tongued I must kiss you”, and so he did.

He wrapped his arms around you, his mouth on yours, and you kissed as if there was no tomorrow. He began walking backwards, dragging you with him, until he reached the end of the room and he turned on his heel, pinning you against the wall. Between the two windows of the stern, your back was pushed against the wood and its decorations, but you didn’t care. You were too busy with Barbossa’s hands and mouth, which were trailing the shape of your breasts with devotion, relieving you of the last shreds of clothing you wore, until you were stark-naked under the moonlight that streamed in through the panel glass.

He paused for a minute and looked at you, taking in every inch of your body, and despite it not being the first time he’d seen you naked and you being the furthest thing from a prude, you couldn’t help but blush and almost try to cover yourself. Other men had seen you nude, and so had Barbossa, but you’d never been this vulnerable before. You’d never been this real. This alive. And it scared you. You wanted it so much that it terrified you.

“You’re perfect”, he whispered in a way that made your toes curl.

“I’m far from perfect”, you snickered, but he leaned into you, so close that you held in a breath.

“You’re perfect to me. And that’s all that matters”.

Your heart pumped blood at a rate you’d never experienced before and you thought it might jump from your chest and explode. But it didn’t, not even when Barbossa held you up, your legs and thighs around his waist, and entered you, slowly at first, playing with your wet slit, rubbing his cock up and down your entrance, until you almost begged him, and then pummelled you against the wall, driving into you with a passion and a thirst that reminded you why he’d earned the reputation of one of the most fearsome pirates in the Caribbean.

Your weight pulled you down as he buried himself deeper and deeper into you, a powerful force that hit all the right buttons, and his tongue interlaced with yours in a kiss that joined you as one, body and soul, and when your orgasm hit, nearly at the same time as his, you rode it, wave after wave, sinking your nails into Barbossa’s back with his name on your lips, a taste sweeter than honey.

“Hector…”, you managed to mutter when you’d more or less regained control of your body, but Barbossa’s strength must have given out after that impassioned show of force and he toppled down to the floor and you on top of him with a little shriek.

“Age is unforgiving”, he laughed, and you with him.

“Lucky you, I like my men like I like my wine: well-aged and matured in a wooden barrel”.

Barbossa roared in laughter.

“At least I can still perform, it seems. Did you…?”

“Yeah”, you nodded, laying down by his side. You’d come all right. “Yeah, I did”.

“By the way, uh… What was that you said before?”

“Huh?”

“Before you went down on me”.

“About your cock?”

“No, for fuck’s sake, Meridith. The other thing”.

“Oh. That I love you?”

There was a pause where all you could hear was Barbossa’s raspy breath and his anticipation. The light of the Locker’s moon wasn’t too bright, but you’d swear that his eyes shone when he looked at you.

Why deny what was true?

“I love you, Hector. I really do”.

Barbossa went silent. You didn’t know how you’d expected him to react, as for you it had been obvious since the day he’d shot you in Isla de Muerta, but you couldn’t help being anxious by his silence. Barbossa gazed into the ceiling of the cabin, but then his hand passed over your shoulder and hugged you, bringing him closer to you. You tried to look at him, but he’d covered his face with his free hand. He was trembling.

“Hector? Hector, I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, not at all”. His voice almost broke and your heart stopped, only to renew beating swelled of pride and love for him. “I’m… I wasn’t sure that you… Shit. I love you, Meridith”.

There was nothing more to be said, nothing that could say more than those three words than you’d already pronounced.

So you just leaned against Barbossa, resting your cheek on his chest, and observed it go up and down with his breathing, a smile of utter joy plastered on your lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! See you on Tuesdaaaay :D


	42. What lurks beyond the surface

“Ye know, this is not what I’d imagined the Locker to be like”.

You moved your chin up to face Barbossa. You were leaning on his chest and mindlessly drawing invisible figures with your index finger on his skin while he stroked your hair. The room was in shambles around you, but thanks to Jack’s slovenliness during the time he’d been alone with the _Pearl_ in the Locker, it could easily be attributed to the attack of the kraken. Not the overturned table, though. You’d cracked its central leg. Eh. Worth it.

“What did you image it to be like?”

He hesitated. Your breaths were almost in sync, now back to normal after the toils of the night. It was a novel sensation, missing air from your lungs, overexerting yourself like that until your body felt as if it would break, but it had all been worth it.

“When we were cursed, we didn’t need to sleep, undead as we were, but it didn’t mean we didn’t _do_ it, you see. Especially at the beginning, when we didn’t yet understand what had happened to us. But I soon gave up. Every time I closed me eyes, I saw… No, not saw, that’s not the word, as there was nothing, but it wasn’t an absence of feeling or perception, no… There was something in that nothing. I felt it. I could sense it in my cursed, old bones. But it was terrifying. Painful. And the worst thing of it all was me not knowing what that was. A sample of what was coming once everything ended, I supposed. I always imagined the Locker would be something like that dreadful nothingness. An eternity of it”.

You pondered his words. It sounded terrible to imagine, let alone live through that. You wondered how many things Barbossa had lived through before he met you and what lay under the bravado that he’d shown on that first fateful night. And gave thanks to whatever god might be listening that he’d decided to share his story with you.

“I hate the Locker”, you confessed. Barbossa shifted, staring at you. He’d clearly not anticipated that. But how could he have? “I’ve never told anybody, not even my father. Everybody just assumes that because I was born here and I know it well I feel at home here, but I just… I just don’t. It’s purgatory, a place of punishment, corrupted by Davy Jones’ breaking of the oath he made to Calypso. It’s not a place to _be_. Not even for me. _Especially_ not for me. I shouldn’t exist. I’m an anomaly that the Locker allowed, that it overlooked, and being here makes me… uneasy. As if the Locker will suddenly notice and try to rectify its mistake”.

“Shhh”. Barbossa pushed you up until your face was on a level with his and kissed you to shut you up. “I must thank the Locker, then, for its blunder”.

“Careful, Captain”, you smiled, “or I may get the impression that you’re in love with me”.

“Or I’ll fight it if it decides to come for you”, he offered. You raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll fight the Locker?”

“Aye. Why not? I’ve done stranger things”.

You rolled your eyes and he grinned.

A shriek cut through the air and you and Barbossa immediately propped yourselves up. The sound of several pairs of feet climbing the stairs of the hatch onto the deck put you on guard and you rushed out as soon as you could manage to throw some clothes over you. Only Jack stared at the obvious dishevelment of your shirt and trousers and Barbossa’s smirk, having a hard time believing that anybody could actually have sex with his fellow captain.

Elizabeth was holding onto the main deck’s bannister, waving her arms like crazy, with Will trying to restrain her, and for a moment you thought their talk had gone terribly wrong and what everybody was watching was nothing but a lovers’ spat.

Then you understood.

Flanking the _Pearl_ like a ghostly retinue, hundreds of rowing boats silently bobbed in the water, advancing with the current. All the oars were quiet, still. The people sitting next to them were beyond rowing now.

It wasn’t every day that you could look death in the face and live to tell the tale. It was one thing to be undead, or to be cursed with a state similar to death; after all, the crew of the _Pearl_ always expected to break the spell and never ceased to behave like human beings. These people, however…

“Father! Father! It’s him! Look, Will, it’s him! We’re back!”, the girl waved, her cheeks puffed with a smile of pure glee. Your heart felt a pang of pain seeing her. Why did the world have to be so cruel to someone so pure?

“This is exactly what I wanted to avoid”, you sighed.

No more than a few feet away from the hull of the _Pearl_ , an elderly man with a grandiose wig and costume sat in a boat, looking mindlessly ahead. He only seemed to notice his daughter after a while, raising his eyes with apathy towards the ship.

“Elizabeth? Is that you?”

“Elizabeth”, said Will, taking her hand and forcing her to look at him. “We’re not back”.

It was what was left unsaid that hurt the most. The man whom Elizabeth called father was paler than ash and barely recognised his own daughter. Dead eyes, like those of the fish which are washed ashore after a storm, gave away his fate.

Elizabeth turned again to the phantasmagorical shape of his father, slowly sailing away, and her voice cracked. It was pain and heartbreak that sounded in it when she spoke next.

“No… No!! No, Father! Father!”

“There was this chest, you see”, the man said. “At the time it seemed so important… And a heart. I learned there must always be a heart. There must always be a captain at the helm, to sail the seas for eternity. Huh. Silly thing to die for”.

Dalma shot Jack and Will a meaningful look that you didn’t fail to catch. You knew that. The _Dutchman_ must always have a captain. And that captain had to be your father. You’d never accept anything else.

“Come aboard! Someone, cast a line! Please, come back with us!”, Elizabeth pleaded, but her father was beyond saving.

She made for the water, as if she’d rather risk jumping into the brackish night waters of the Locker to save her father than lose him forever, and you understood her. You’d do the same thing in her place. But you wouldn’t allow it.

“Don’t let her jump!”, you yelled, rushing towards Elizabeth. “Get her! She mustn’t leave the ship!”

“I’m so proud of you, Elizabeth. I’ll give your love to your mother”, Governor Swann said, and you had to hold back your tears.

Elizabeth sobbed and shouted, but her father didn’t stir. He was somewhere very far away, and nobody would be able to reach him again. The young woman collapsed on the deck of the _Pearl_ , her body shaking with convulsion, weeping, and the procession of lost souls continued around the _Pearl_.

“There were faces in the water before”, said Ragetti after a while. You whipped your head towards him. Hadn’t you said that nobody was to remain on deck? What was the use of having you aboard if you weren’t going to be listened to?

“I don’t know why I even bother”.

“What are they?”

“The souls that Davy Jones failed to guide to the other side”, answered Tia Dalma from behind you. Despite all the fuss, she still refused to approach the bannister and remained away from the water. “He ignored his duties, and how they suffer for it”.

“Don’t you dare lay the whole blame at his feet”, you replied, cold as stone.

“Woah. That’s spooky”, said Ragetti, oblivious to your clash with Dalma, while Pintel nodded at his side.

“They won’t harm us. We’re naught but ghosts to them”, you replied.

“Are they going to follow us all the way?”, asked Will, hugging Elizabeth tight against his chest. You shook your head.

“They’re not following us. It’s the _Pearl_ that’s gotten in their way. They’ll be gone come morning. In the meanwhile, we’d do well not to disturb the water”.

Elizabeth was taken belowdecks, walking on her own, which you supposed was a good sign, but you made a point of going to speak to her once you’d returned to the world of the living. There could be worse ways of leaning that your father was dead than finding his spirit in the netherworld, but right now you couldn’t think of any, and she was going to need all the help she could get.

After the episode, nobody really wanted to stay on deck, but you remained looking at the boats sail past. Women, men, children… Death spared no-one. No matter how costly the rags you disguised yourself with were, it would eventually come for you.

Would it ever come for _you_?

“That’s closer to what I expected the Locker to be like”.

Barbossa came to rest at your side, his fingers grazing yours on top of the bannister. His eyes were focused on the boats that kept coming, unwavering, indifferent to the living vessel that sailed amongst them.

“It’s one of the grimmest parts of the Locker”, you agreed. “But it’s not what it’s supposed to be like”.

“Isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t it feel wrong to you? This loneliness, this helplessness… Death at sea is terrible enough as it is, there’s no need for further punishment”.

“You seem to have very strong opinions of what the afterlife should look like”.

You let out a harsh laugh.

“As a kid this parade of ghosts always made my skin crawl, but I observed it night after night. Do you know why?” Barbossa shook your head and you continued. Bitterness soaked your voice. “Because I wanted to see if I could find my parents. My real parents, the ones who gave birth to me. It was futile, of course. They must have passed through here the very minute they drowned, but I held on to that pointless hope for years”.

“So you’re not actually Davy Jones’ daughter? I don’t think you’ve ever told me the whole story”.

“I suppose that now, in the world of the dead, flanked by scores of unfortunate souls on their way to the other side, is probably the best time to do it, yeah?”

You gave Barbossa a hint of a smile and his thumb stroked the back of your hand. It was a gentle touch, which transmitted not understanding, for it was impossible to imagine anything close to what your life had been, but support. It was the pirate’s way of telling you he was there for you, whether you wanted to tell him the story or not. You bit your lip, touched, and inspired deeply.

“No, I’m not Davy Jones’ daughter. I suppose the lack of tentacles gave me away? Hah! He found me on a beach, on the very beach where we met Jack. The Locker likes to play with you like that. But I was very much alive, and he decided to take me in. He thought very hard for many years how it could be possible that a living human could be in the Locker, but when I turned out to be… well, _special_ , he reached the conclusion that I must be a product of the Locker itself, of its twisted rules. Apparently, the day he found me there had been a terrible storm halfway through the Atlantic, as if the gods had thrown a tantrum, and a ship had gone down with all its passengers. My parents must have been aboard, and I was born just in the nick of time. Lucky me, huh?”

“So the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ decided to adopt a suckling babe? Seems unlikely”, Barbossa laughed.

“I turned out to be the best First Mate in the Seven Seas, so the joke’s on you”.

“How a storm can change one’s life, innit?”

“Indeed”.

“Meridith, I…”

He never got to finish his sentence. The _Pearl_ bumped into something and careened over to the side, sending the few men that had dared to stay on the deck to the floor. You staggered and only managed to avoid falling head first onto the wooden planks thanks to Barbossa, who grabbed you by the arm and held you fast against him, holding tight to the bannister until the ship stopped rocking from one side to the other.

The noise of barrels and cannons moving in the hold almost drowned the sound of the water against the hull and the slithering of whatever the _Pearl_ had crashed against under the waves. It wasn’t a promising sound.

“What on the seven hells’ name was that?”

Gibbs head appeared from the hatch, whiskers taut like violin strings, followed by Pintel, Ragetti, Tia Dalma, Jack and the loving couple. Elizabeth at least seemed to have somewhat recovered from her encounter with her father.

“I don’t know, we didn’t see anyth…”

You fell silent halfway through. The boats with the drifting souls were gone, vanished into thin air. In their stead there was only a deep, oily darkness that covered everything. And rain. You lifted your hands to the sky, perplexed. You’d never seen rain in the Locker.

In the background, Pintel and Ragetti quickly got hold of the first thing they managed to find to cover themselves from the rain, which turned out to be Sao Feng’s navigation charts. The Chinese swore at them, probably something not particularly nice, but they ignored them. Tia Dalma trembled.

“Day should be breaking soon”, she muttered. “The sun, and the flash of green”.

“It doesn’t look like sunrise is close at all”, mumbled Jack. Then he turned to you. “Is this going according to the plan, love? Doesn’t it look a little too doom-ish for you?”

“I find that plans usually work better when I just wing it. We’ll get out of here, fear not”, but you were raking your brains thinking how to actually keep your word. As much as you hated to admit it, Dalma was right. With the sunrise, the flash of green would come, opening a gate to the world of the living, even if it just lasted for a few seconds.

But something was going wrong. It should have started to get light already, if only a little, but you were surrounded by pitch black night still. And it was _raining_. It had started as a drizzle, but water was starting to pour on the _Pearl_ , a sudden storm with no wind or clouds, just plain rain that soaked you in a gooey way, leaving everything sultry and sticky as it flushed down.

And then there was whatever roamed the water beneath the _Pearl_.

Another shock went through the ship. You almost didn’t dare look over the bannister, at the water, for fear of what you might find in it, but you had to know. You’d promised to get them safe and sound back to the world of the living, and you’d failed at too many things to do so again now.

So mustering all the courage you could find, you drove your nails into the wood and pushed yourself up, over the bannister, and faced the creature.

Two yellow eyes, as big as cannonballs, stared at you from the water. The only points of light in the whole wet, dark world that surrounded you. And they weren’t just pointed in the direction of the _Pearl_. They were looking at _you_.

“Beto?”, said someone, perhaps Pintel, but your senses were too warped to be sure. “What is it?”

“Look! Another ship!”

“Where?”

“I can’t see anything!”

“Mother’s love…”

Where nothing had been seconds before, the skeleton of a ship emerged from the darkness and the rain and your heart almost stopped.

It was half sunk, its mast and sails torn and eaten away by the dampness, and with the falling rain, its decaying wooden hull shrieked like a widow at her husband’s funeral. Every hair on your body stood on edge, but it wasn’t because of the eerie apparition of the ghost ship.

“It’s my parents’ ship”, you muttered. Only Barbossa was close enough to you to hear your words and he turned to you in confusion.

“What?”

“It’s the ship where they drowned”.

“How on earth do you know that?”

“I’ve… seen it before”. The images you’d seen when you fell down the waterfall at the Gate flashed before your eyes and you blinked. Your eyeballs burned. You couldn’t stand it, but at the same time you had to see it up closer.

You leaned on the bannister, in a daze, and before Barbossa could grab you and pull you back, a massive slick creature, as big as the _Pearl_ , jumped out of the water, opened its serrated jaws and swallowed you whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "THE END"
> 
> Nah, just kidding! Poor Beto, I really like to give her a hard time!  
> See you on Friday!!


	43. Jade Skirt

You panted and kicked and wrestled against the grip of the animal, but it was in vain. It had wrapped its tongue, a long and slippery piece of flesh, around your waist, and you were trapped inside its jaws. You couldn’t see where it was going or what was happening outside the creature’s mouth, but you felt it moving, slithering away from the _Pearl_ , and you panicked.

You’d never really thought about what your mortality within the Locker could mean. You’d never even contemplated the idea that something within the Locker could actually kill you. And could it? Would you die and end up on one of those boats, eyes dead, lost in the mists of the other side, just like everybody else?

No, no, you refused to believe that. To give up. The Locker hadn’t kept you alive for so long for _this_.

You struggled again, trying to pry loose the disgustingly slick and squishy appendix that held you in place, but the muscles beneath the flesh were taut and unyielding.

“Let me go, you disgusting piece of rotting meat!”

The creature didn’t seem to like your foul mouth much and it stopped abruptly, making you crash against its gums. It was gooey and smelled like rotting fish, and for a minute you thought you might just throw up.

But then it separated its lips and its serrated fangs and spit you out, as if you were the last undigested part of a meal that hadn’t sat well with it.

You fell against a wooden floor, decaying due to the dampness that surrounded you, and at once you noticed something was off. There was water around you and your first reaction was to hold your breath and to swim, but you discovered that you could breathe just fine. But it was water alright, closing in around you: bubbles and strange tricks of the light trickled through the waves, and your hair and your dishevelled shirt floated around you, as if completely submerged.

But there was also rain. A steady drizzle, thick enough that you could see the raindrops through the windows of the room you were in. It didn’t make sense, and yet it was happening right before you.

And then there was the creature. It lurked at one of the corners, drawing back into the shadows of the chamber, but it was hard to miss. Just seeing it made you skin crawl. It was enormous, but it seemed as if it’d shrunk to fit the room, or maybe the room had grown to accommodate it. It looked like an otter, if an otter could measure more than twenty metres from head to tail and have jagged teeth and fiery yellow eyes that shone in the darkness. Its fur was dark and slick and it had two small ears and a nozzle, and its paws were finished in monkey-like claws, almost humanoid in shape and colour. But worst of all was its tail, as long as the rest of its body and finished in another massive hand that seemed ready to snatch you again and pull you into the darkness of whatever pit of Hell you were currently in.

“Welcome, Cihuaconetlatl”, said a voice, and your mortal heart froze.

It was feminine and masculine at the same time, high-pitched and deep, young and fearsomely ancient. It was a thousand voices at the same time, muffled through the layers of the water that somehow you could breathe, and came from someone standing right behind you.

Every hair on your body stood on end. You turned, very slowly, not even taking in the luxurious ballroom you were in, adorned with gold and candelabra in the European style, sparkles of a glory long lost forever in the waters of the Locker, and you faced Her.

She – for She unequivocally presented as female – was tall, taller than any human had any right to be, towering over you, with a long mane of oily black hair that cascaded in ripples to the floor. She wore a skirt of green, the same colour of the sea when you neared the shore of an untrodden island, and which gleamed like the water in the morning, and a red shawl, and was crowned with a red and white headdress, formed of coloured bands trimmed with amaranth seeds and large round tassels that fell on every side of Her head adorning Her hair. She smiled and you shuddered. The smile didn’t reach Her eyes because they were black, entirely black, and they reminded you of the waters of the Farthest Gate, a place that was neither here nor there, where the whole cosmos was contained. Her eyes were two pools of infinity waiting for you to fall into them.

You were scared shitless. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you face to face, Cihuaconetlatl”.

Her voice reverberated around the walls of the ballroom, and, as if by Her silent command, animals like the one that had brought you there started appearing everywhere. Smaller in size, they slithered into existence or crawled into the room by the windows, eyes ablaze and tongues sticking out. Their monkey-like paws twitched, waiting for you to make a false move and jump on you. They gathered around the woman – not a woman, no, something entirely _other_ , but that was the best you could do –, who was sitting on a throne the colour of coagulated blood, water dripping from it and pooling at Her feet. Water inside water. You considered the possibility that you were going mad.

“Who are you?”, you whispered. Your voice came out strangled. The woman smiled with all Her teeth and it was the most terrifying thing you’d ever seen.

“But you know me already, Cihuaconetlatl, Daughter of the Water, She Who Would Not Drown”.

You were about to protest, to say that whatever nonsense She was spouting it wasn’t your name, that you were sick of riddles and mysteries, but suddenly the name sounded right. It just… fit. And you realised She was right. You knew Her.

“You… You were there. When the ship went down. When I…”

“When you died, yes. And when you began to live, all in reverse order. You have never been one to follow the rules, Cihuaconetlatl, have you?”

One of the otter-like creatures approached you, slinking through the carpeted floor, and you winced and took a step back, away from it and from the woman. She didn’t seem bothered.

“Oh, don’t mind the ahuizotls. They won’t hurt you. Unless you give them cause to, that is”.

“I suppose they swallow and kidnap people they like very much, then?”, you asked, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.

“They can be a bit rough at times, but the circumstances demanded it. You have been very hard to approach, my dear”.

“I didn’t know I was in such high demand, my bad. So what the hell is this fever dream? Are we still in the Locker?”

The woman clicker Her tongue and looked outside the window. Unlike yours, Her hair dropped straight down, reaching the pools of water at Her feet, and seemed perfectly at ease with the strange watery atmosphere that surrounded everything. Your movements were heavy and sluggish, and your hair moved as if submerged. Outside, however, the rain continued falling, a curtain of raindrops that separated you from the rest of the world.

“The Locker. Davy Jones’ Locker. Ridiculous. As if a mortal man could ever be master of Tlalocan”.

At the mention of that last name your heart skipped a beat. You’d heard of Tlalocan, of course you had. You hadn’t sailed the Caribbean as an emissary of the dead for decades for nothing. Tlalocan, the kingdom of Tlaloc, god of rain, and his consort Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of rivers and streams, paradise of the drowned and first level of the afterlife for the Aztecs.

So if this was Tlalocan, it meant that the woman could only be…

“The Jade Skirt”, you muttered in awe. An epiphany hit you and all the pieces suddenly came together fitting perfectly. You cursed yourself for not having realised sooner. “You’re Chalchiuhtlicue”.

“Do you like this?”, She asked, raising Her hands to the ballroom that surrounded you. “I find it hideous, indeed, but I thought you might… have a fondness for it. It was here that your mother drew her last breath, after all”.

Your blood curled and suddenly everything that you’d found odd before about the place became purely revolting. Now you understood the ornaments out of place, the weirdness that you couldn’t quite place before: it was a mirage, created by someone who tried to imitate a style they knew nothing about.

“I hate it”.

Chalchiuhtlicue looked at you with an undecipherable expression and snapped Her fingers.

“Good”.

The setting changed in the flash of an eye. The ballroom was gone, and with it the whole ship. A chasm opened beneath your feet, wet blackness stretching out in all directions with rain falling from the sky into the nightmarish sea you were drowning in, and in the centre of it all you, floating in the vastness of that shadowy world in front of the goddess of water, who hadn’t as much as moved a muscle.

The ahuizotls circled you, their yellow eyes fixed on you as they swam through the dark space. The biggest one, the one who’d kidnapped you, settled behind his master, sitting at the foot of the throne. Chalchiuhtlicue smiled again, more at ease.

“I prefer the Locker’s beaches”, you managed to say, finally.

“That’s just the threshold to Tlalocan, a poor imitation of the physical world left behind. Only the gloriously drowned dead can enter the true paradise”.

“And here I was feeling special. I feel rather cheated, Chalchiuhtlicue”.

“You should not feel disappointed, Cihuaconetlatl. You were chosen”.

“Chosen? By who? What do you mean?”

“Surely you can imagine that. You were born in the liminal space between life and death. You were born dead and alive at the same time, and thus you immediately caught Our attention. An opportunity for a vessel. An agent. Or simply a bit of entertainment. Eternity is a very long time, you see. So We made a bet, Mictlantecuhtli and I. I’d make you my creature, and He would renounce you… for a while”.

Your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor, if there had been a floor. You closed your mouth and tried to avoid looking at the abyss that lay beneath your feet. That was… hard to digest. Chalchiuhtlicue and Mictlantecuhtli, the great god of the dead and the underworld, betting on you newborn soul. Hiding it away, so you’d always end up going back to them. That was something.

“What did you bet?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you made a bet. What did you bet? To what end did you take mercy on me?”

Chalchiuhtlicue’s expressions were not human, so it was impossible to know what was going through Her mind, if anything at all, but She took her time to reply. When She finally answered, Her voice sounded deeper, more measured than before.

“That is exactly why I brought you here today, Cihuaconetlatl. You see, He bet that not even with your help could I regain what is rightfully mine”.

“And what is that?”

She raised Her eyes to you and Her two wells of infinity pierced through you. Silent ghostly waves streamed past Her, but Tlalocan was quiet. Still. Dark.

“The sea”.

The ahuizotls opened their serrated mouths and a shrill cry came out of them. It was unsettling.

“My consort Tlaloc and Mictlantecuhtli’s Obsidian Butterfly, Itzpapálotl, were there to witness the bet, in case you want confirmation. Not that I am happy with the outcome so far, daughter of mine. I must say I am rather disappointed. Mictlantecuhtli thought He could profit too from putting you aboard that damned ship, but not even then did your captain do the job he was tasked with. And the seas are still kept from me”.

“I’m glad to know I’m the only person to have actually literally cheated death, thank you. I think I’ll add it to my list of achievements”.

“This is not a joking matter, Cihuaconetlatl. You have no idea about what is at stake here”.

“Honestly, I don’t give a shit. I couldn’t care less about your stakes or about your bets. I don’t take kindly to be played with, and you seemed to have used me as a pawn _my whole life!_ Well, it ends here! I’m my own person, thank you very much, and I’ll decide for myself for now on”.

“You do not have a choice. Your soul is in our hands”.

“We always have a choice. And I’m making mine. Oh, this is glorious. Now it all makes sense! The weird feeling with the Aztec coins. The obsidian knife! What was up with that?”

“Ah, yes, that arrogant priest. So presumptuous of him to attack Us. I have never got on well with the divinities from the west”.

“West?”

“We are the centre of our universe, Cihuaconetlatl, try to keep up and forget that coloniser nonsense. In any case, the whole business with the cursed gold had nothing to do with me. Mictlantecuhtli should answer for that”.

“Please don’t get anybody else involved, I have my hands full dealing just with you”.

You massaged your temples and dangled your feet over the dark abyss of Tlalocan. You’d almost gotten used to the feeling of being suspended in the air (or in the water, you supposed), but it still unsettled you every time you looked away from the watery eyes of Chalchiuhtlicue.

“Is there any actual reason you’ve brought me here? Or did you just want to boast about your terrible child-rearing skills and throw a tantrum about, apparently, having lost the seas?”

“You have the very thief who stole them from me aboard your ship”.

Damn, you weren’t expecting that. You looked up at the water goddess and for the first time you noticed something akin to annoyance in Her face. Tia Dalma’s words resonated in your head. She’d told you not to trust Them or you’d all be damned. She’d known, or at least suspected, ever since the temple in Singapore. But how was she any better than these weirdos?

“Tia Dalma? Do you mean Calypso?”

“Her kind have no business on _our_ waters”, spat Chalchiuhtlicue. You could taste the animosity in her voice. “She thought she was queen, but she was wrong. And after she was made prisoner, the seas fell into mortal hands. The age of the gods was gone. Stolen from us! All because of her!”

“Okay… Wow. So… Does Calypso actually any friends? One, at least? Man, that must be a sad life. No wonder she’s so bitter. You see, bad news is I kinda need her to free my father, so I have to unbind her. But after that feel free to tear her apart, by all means. Be my guest”.

“What if there was another way, Cihuaconetlatl? What if I could offer you a different solution to your father’s predicament?”

You stopped fidgeting and dropped your smile. The ahuizotls swam past you, licking their lips.

“I’m listening”.

“Kill Calypso, while she is still human. Not in Tlalocan, for she is not for Our kingdom, but when you return to the mortal world. And I will grant Davy Jones and your crew limitless freedom and power, and to you… I shall return to you your soul. Return the seas to Me and you shall be rewarded”.

You pondered the offer, trying to hide the blow that it had been. You didn’t like Calypso at all, and your main concern after releasing her had been that she stayed well away from your father, but killing her… Did she deserve it? Probably. Were you willing to do it? Another, more careless, time you’d have immediately said yes. Now that you were given the chance, you suddenly shied away from it.

You remembered the feelings that had surged through you when you’d thought that Jones had killed Barbossa. How you’d hated him. How you’d wished that you’d never met him, that the kraken had taken him and not your pirate. You could only imagine what _he_ would feel if his only daughter murdered the woman he’d loved enough to curse himself for it.

_Don’t trust them or you’ll damn us all._

You found yourself in a bind. If you killed Calypso and gave Chalchiuhtlicue unfettered access to the sea, your father would hate you forever. If you didn’t kill her, you’d bring the goddess’s anger on you and Mictlan would take you. And in both cases Davy Jones’s heart was at risk no matter what. The only question left was who you trusted to keep their word at the end of the day.

And you had that very clear.

“Agreed”, you said, offering your hand to Chalchiuhtlicue. The goddess’s lips curved upwards in the most eerie way, showing teeth as white as bone and dark grey gums. You felt rather stupid with that gesture. Did the gods shake hands? You would never find out, as Chalchiuhtlicue snapped her fingers once more and a mass of water come from nowhere fell on you, wrapping you in bubbles and streams until your lungs were on fire, and dragged you up, up, up away from Tlalocan, while a voice still droned in your ears, and the last thing you heard before you fainted was Chalchiuhtlicue whispering in your ear.

_I’m always watching over you, Cihuaconetlatl. Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot to take in! Are you liking it so far! Let me know, I live for your comments!  
> See you on Tuesday and have a lovely weekend!


	44. Escape from the Locker

Your back thumped against the deck of the _Pearl_ so hard that for a split second you were convinced your spine had snapped, but that pain was almost irrelevant compared to the fire in your lungs. No matter how many times or how wide you opened your mouth, no air came in, and you began to see sparkles of light behind your eyelids as you desperately gaped for a breath of air to fill your lungs.

Shadows and figures flocked around you, indeterminate voices filling the air, and two hands pushed down on your abdomen with such force one of your ribs cracked, but your muscles reacted and you vomited every last drop of water lodged in your body, finally being able to breathe in as if it was the first time in your life you’d done it, as if you were once again that baby who’d sauntered along the border between life and death so long ago and was breathing in the arms of a tentacled pirate.

Then you fainted again.

“… this damned place’s fault. Our time is almost up!”

“None of us expected it to be a bed of roses, Elizabeth”.

“Losing our guide was definitely _not_ in our plans”.

Your head pounded as if a tiny gnome had crawled in through your ears and was currently playing the bongos inside your skull. Was this what hangover was like for normal people? You wished it had been the product of a night of excessive intimacy with a bottle of rum instead of a fever dream with an Aztec goddess, but your life just _had_ to be this exciting. Lucky you.

“This senseless chatter isn’t taking us anywhere”. That was Dalma’s voice, as rich and commanding as ever. Chalchiuhtlicue’s voice floated back into your ears and you tried to open your eyes, but as soon as your pupils caught the first rays of light, they burnt and you groaned. “We can’t know where she’s been, we can’t trust… She’s awake”.

“Meridith!” Barbossa ran to your side, not before he threw a killing glance at the sorceress. You could’ve recognised his hands anywhere: the scars, the calluses, the warmth they emitted every time they touched your skin. You forced yourself to open your eyes again, ever so slightly, and found his face inches from yours, a worried grimace twisting his features. You smiled weakly.

“Wow, you’re close. Have you always been this ugly, darling?”

He sighed and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Glad to see you keep your wits and humour intact. We’ve been worried sick”.

“Speak for yourself, mate”. Jack Sparrow was also in the room. Where the hell were you and why were there so many people there? You’d also heard Elizabeth’s and Will’s voices, and that was too many people for any respectable cabin. “I’ve been very comfortable without her around, no offense. Plus she’s only been gone for a couple of hours”.

“A couple of hours in the Locker could mean anything”, intervened Elizabeth, and then crouched by your bed. Bed? There were _beds_ in the _Pearl_? Barbossa could’ve told you before fucking you against a bloody table. “Are you alright?”

“Ah, well, as alright as you can be after an astral voyage like mine. Undead chosen-one stuff, don’t mind me”.

“She’s speaking gibberish”, complained Will.

You ignored him and tried to get up. Your body felt heavy and sluggish, a phantom feeling of Tlalocan’s water still lingering upon your limbs, but you fought it and stood up. The people around you watched in silence as you massaged your temples.

“I haven’t felt this horrible in ages”, you said. “Does anybody have any rum?”

Silently and certainly grudgingly, Jack passed you an uncorked bottle which you downed in one go. The alcohol burned through your throat and stomach and finally woke you up. Rum tasted _so_ much better with a mortal body, as you’d conveniently found out the first time you’d gotten completely wasted as a sixteen-year-old.

“So how about you start at the beginning?”, said Will, arms crossed and his recurring angry puppy expression on his face.

“You were swallowed by a giant monster. How are you even alive?”, asked Barbossa.

“I’m offended by that last question, Hector. You know better than anybody that I’m a hard bitch to kill. And it wasn’t a ‘monster’, it was an ahuizotl”.

“A what”.

“You just made that up”.

“If you’d learnt to read we wouldn’t be having this conversation. They’re the servants of the goddess of the seas and streams, Calchiuhtlicue, the Jade Skirt. I’m very happy to inform you that the Locker isn’t called the Locker at all, but Tlalocan”.

“The kingdom of the drowned”, muttered Tia Dalma, and all eyes turned to her. You stared at the woman, who looked positively terrified, and now you understood why. Even if she wasn’t within the power of Tlaloc and Chalchiuhtlicue, she was still human and in a territory that wasn’t her own. You wouldn’t be happy to be in her skin.

Could you kill her? She looked so small and insignificant… Davy Jones’s locket gleamed upon her chest and a chill ran through your body.

“Sorry I had to leave you for a minute, I was busy having a very moving family reunion”, you managed to grumble.

“Family reunion? Do you mean Jones? Is he here?”, asked Jack with patent worry.

“No, not Jones. Unfortunately. I would’ve much preferred him. Never mind that. I had a visionary, almost epiphanic, I could say, encounter. With a goddess, you see”.

Everybody stared at you and Dalma tensed visibly, but only you could guess at the real reason why. You had to contain a smirk at her discomfort.

“I had the good luck – or misfortune, depends on how you want to look at it because this shit has definitely left me scarred for life – of meeting Tlalocan’s very own mistress, Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of waters, rivers and seas”.

“Oh, for god’s sake, no more Aztec gods”, complained Barbossa throwing his arms to the sky. “I’ve had enough of Aztec gods and their shenanigans”.

“You’re in for a ride then”, you groaned. “She and her husband, Tlaloc, are the real masters of this place, even though Cortés and his ilk didn’t seem to care much about that, nor does the Company now, and she’s not too pleased about our presence here. She wants us out of the Locker as fast as we can haul ass”.

“Just like that? You’re kidnapped by a goddess that just wants to kindly show you the way out?”

Will didn’t seem convinced by your tale, and, truth be told, neither did anyone else. Everybody looked at you now sceptically. Especially Dalma. She must’ve known that your encounter with Chalchiuhtlicue had involved her, but like hell you were gonna hand her that information.

“Meridith”. Barbossa’s eyes pierced yours. You couldn’t fool him, and wanted to tell him the truth, but not now. Not in front of everybody. “Enough lies. Don’t do this again”.

“Why must everybody always assume I’m lying? When have I ever given you that impression?” Nobody replied and a sceptical silence hung over the room. “Okay, you know what, don’t answer. I’m not lying, I’m just… withholding certain bits of information. Nothing that affects you people directly. And anyway, it’s not like I’m the only one here keeping secrets, am I?”

Jack, Will and Dalma immediately looked terribly uncomfortable in their own skins. Good. Jack lied through his teeth more often than he drew breath, Dalma hadn’t disclosed her real identity for centuries to anyone, and the gods knew what Will had agreed with Sao Feng in Singapore, but whatever it was you were sure it would come back to bite him in the ass soon enough.

“So how are we getting out of here? Did your goddess say anything about that?”, asked Elizabeth, the only one who seemed to be on the ball out of everybody in the crew.

“Ah, finally somebody who’s asking the right questions!”. You started walking towards the door and everybody moved out of your way, as if they feared what you might’ve become after your adventure. “The short answer is: I don’t know. The long answer, however, is: I don’t know _but_ I think I can figure it out”.

“She’s gone mad, can you really not see that?”, pleaded Will behind you.

“You speak as if she’d been sane before”, replied Jack, an unexpected defender of your cause.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Barbossa pushed his way through everyone until he reached you, walking with decision towards the main deck.

“When have I ever given you the impression I’m in control of my life, Hector? Besides, isn’t it much more fun to just improvise as you go? That’s what I did when I first boarded the _Pearl_ and look at us. Not bad, heh?”

On a second thought, you stopped and turned to him.

“By the way, she says she’s sorry about the business with the gold. How terribly impolite of the gods, leaving their belongings unattended so that an honest pirate crew can steal them at any given moment and then being pissed about it, don’t you think?”

“ _What!?_ ”

The few members of the _Pearl_ ’s crew that weren’t crammed into the cabin where you’d woken up as well as Tai Huang and his men stared at you when you appeared on the deck as if you were a ghost, but you paid them no mind. The sun was starting to go down; you must’ve been gone for quite some time. If night surprised you again in the Locker, things might get ugly again, and the longer you stayed in a realm that you didn’t belong to, the more complicated it would be to get out. Mictlantecuhtli might want to rethink the terms of the bet and take what was owed to Him…

“Beto!! You’re alive!”

Pintel and Ragetti ran towards you, arms stretched out, like two puppies rushing towards their master, and you felt an awkward tenderness for them. You hugged them tight, as Barbossa looked on, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me”, you laughed. “And now, if you excuse me, I have a few favours to call in”.

The three pirates gazed in bewilderment as you approached the wooden railings of the ship. Water bobbed against the _Pearl_ ’s hull, pristine and clear, as if untold horrors of yellow eyes didn’t lurk beneath the waves. You hoped this was going to work. You’d never really had a plan beyond following the green flash of light, but even that was the stuff of legends. This, however… Well, it was _also_ the stuff of legends, but of legends you personally knew.

You breathed in, deeply.

_I’m always watching over you, Cihuaconetlatl. Always._

_You better be, bitch_ , you thought. _Get us out of here. Get us all out of here, safely. Return us to our world!_

Your nails dug into the wood of the bannister, and the water began to vibrate, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. She was watching. So was everybody else, rather less convinced.

“Get us out of here, Chalchiuhtlicue. You owe me this, or don’t you want me to get rid of Calypso?”, you whispered under your breath.

Somewhere, She grinned.

_What’s the magic word?_

Ugh. You hated the gods. All of them.

“Please?”

In the flash of an eye, the sea of Tlalocan broke down beneath the ship and the water swallowed the _Pearl_ only to become still once more, as if it had never been disturbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and see you on Friday! :D


	45. Betrayal is a pirate's bread-and-butter

The Caribbean was calm that day, which was something rather uncommon, given the amount of piracy and naval battles that were fought on it on a daily basis. It was calm, quiet, one might even say sleeping, its surface as flat as a mirror.

And in a flash of light, as if Chalchiuhtlicue herself had uncorked a bottle of champagne, the _Pearl_ emerged from the water with a booming splash, breaking the waves and landing back on them thunderously. The vessel rocked from side to side as water dripped from its sides until it became still. And then someone threw up.

“Holy mother of Christ!”, shouted Gibbs as soon as he could get on his feet, his whiskers completely drenched and making him look like a sad cat.

“Not quite her who got us out of there”, you pointed out from the floor, still flat against the deck. You could feel the change in your body as you left the Locker and returned to the lands of the living, except you went in the opposite direction. The warm feeling of blood being pumped into your veins, of your cold soaked clothes against your skin, of the breathlessness that came with having escaped a realm forbidden to humans such as Tlalocan, all faded away as the sky of the Caribbean welcomed you once more.

“Nobody move!”, yelled Jack, and everybody stopped dead in their tracks, expecting the worst. The pirate looked terribly distraught. “Is the rum okay?”

You and Barbossa rolled your eyes in unison. As Jack and Gibbs ran downstairs to check whether the rum was still in one piece, you tried to get back on your feet. Chalchiuhtlicue was everything but gentle, apparently, and your knees were slightly wobbly but you managed to hold your ground. Around you, the ship came back to life. You let out a sigh of relief when you confirmed that you hadn’t lost anyone on the trip back home. Pintel and Ragetti, somehow, had managed to tie themselves to the mast, while Elizabeth and Will seemed dizzy but otherwise unhurt. Tia Dalma was sitting on the stairs to the quarterdeck, as drenched as the rest of you and staring at you with eyes like embers. You hadn’t forgotten what you’d promised to do.

“That was… something”.

Barbossa casually leaned on a few boxes that had toppled over, as if you hadn’t just escaped the world of the dead with the help of an ancient Aztec goddess. He was as wet as everybody else and his hair stuck to his neck and forehead, but his hat was intact. You pouted and grabbed it.

“How the hell do you always manage to keep this untouched? How?”

“Give me that”.

“No”, you replied, and switched hats with him. Yours was comically small on his head, and the brim of his obscured your vision so much that he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Looks better on me”.

“I prefer my scarlet feathers anyway”.

You exchanged the hats again and looked at the sea. The ripples that the _Pearl_ produced notwithstanding, the water was calm and smooth, but you didn’t trust the apparent peace. It was the calm before the storm.

Barbossa’s hand brushed yours and pulled you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with a thoughtful expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because we’re back here. I don’t know how the… how the _change_ affects you”.

Ah. So he was worried about you. How unexpectedly sweet of him.

You shrugged.

“I’m still me. The same old undead pirate you met in Road Town. Down there… That was a mirage. An illusion that wasn’t meant to last. If that disappoints you…”

His hand closed around yours.

“Never”.

You could lose yourself in his eyes for years. They told so many stories, so many you wanted to be a part of, and now he was inviting you to. You bit your lip and stroked the inside of his hand with your fingers. Neither of you said anything for a while. You didn’t need to.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You can. I can’t promise I’ll answer it, though”.

“What did that goddess really promise you? Why did she help us go?”

Of course he’d be asking questions. And you wanted to answer them. No more lies. That’s what had torn you apart in the first place. That’s what had dealt the death blow to Calypso’s and Davy Jones’ relationship. You glanced over at the goddess, huddled in a corner, and Barbossa followed your eyes.

“Her?”

“How many goddesses aboard a ship would you say are too many, Hector?”

“You mean that…? Impossible…”

A tremor shook the _Pearl_ and the crew fell on their knees. The hull had bumped into something and stopped with a jerk. Several pirates leaned out to see what the matter was, and so did you and Barbossa. The water around the _Pearl_ was bubbly and foamy but you’d know those bubbles anywhere.

“We’ve hit a reef!”, shouted Tai Huang, and his men immediately moved to lighten the ship to get moving again, but Will stopped them with a movement of his hand. The whole crew had horror painted on their faces, Jack most of all.

“That’s not a reef”, whispered Will. “It’s the kraken”.

The name rippled through the _Pearl_ like an earthquake. You’d seen the ship you so loved being devoured by the kraken before, and you could only imagine the fear they must have felt while running from such a creature. They’d only made it because Elizabeth had sacrificed Jack.

Before any of you knew it, Jack had pulled out his gun and pointed it to Elizabeth.

“Sorry, my love, but I won’t be carrion again”.

Almost instantly, Will pointed his own gun towards Jack.

“Touch her and you’re dead, Jack”.

Jack changed his gun to Will’s face, but then Elizabeth pulled out her own gun, a massive flintlock she had stored _somewhere_ , and both men looked at her in surprise.

“I can take care of myself”.

“Why is the kraken here?”, asked Pintel, shuddering. Around you, men started panicking.

“Davy Jones has sent it after us, it’s obvious!”, replied Will.

“Only because he’s now under the command of the Trading Company!”, retorted Elizabeth. You were rather stunned by her defence, and so was Will.

“You’re taking her side now?”, he said, pointing at you.

“I trust her”.

“That’s not a terribly sound decision, darling, all things considered”, replied Jack.

You rolled your eyes.

“It’s not gonna hurt us”.

The whole ship turned towards you. You leaned against the mast, arms crossed over your chest.

“It’s fine, it’s not gonna hurt us”, you repeated.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it just wants to be petted”, replied Will.

“You’d be surprised”.

“What do you mean it won’t hurt us? How do you know?”, asked Barbossa, silent until now. He was nervous, you could tell. He’d also had to run from Jones and the kraken, and out of everybody on the _Pearl_ , he was probably the one against which your father held the biggest grudge.

“Because I’m aboard. It knows me and likes me. As much as I hate saying this, Will is right, it’s very likely that Beckett ordered my father to send the kraken after the _Pearl_ and voilà, it found us. But my father complied because he knows there was no danger in doing so. He can give orders to the kraken, but he can’t _compel_ it. And the kraken wouldn’t hurt me”.

“Soy you’re telling us that you’re friends with a fifty metre long sea monster?”

“I’m an undead abomination created by an ancient goddess of the drowned, but the sea monster bit is the one that makes you uncomfortable?”

“This means that Beckett could find us at any time if he has the kraken to trail the _Pearl_ ”, said Elizabeth, again the only judicious one. You’d have to convince her to join your crew aboard the _Dutchman_ in the future. “We have to trace a plan for what we’re going to do next”.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do next. The Brethren Court is gathering at Shipwreck Cove, and Jack, you and I are going, there’ll be no arguing that point”, said Barbossa, his hand tight on the grip of his pistol.

“I is arguing that point”, replied Jack. “If there’s pirates gathering, I’m pointing my ship the other way”.

“The pirates are gathering to fight Beckett, and you’re a pirate!”, intervened Elizabeth. You watched the conversation jump from one person to another as if it was a ball game.

“If we don’t stand together, they’ll hunt us down one by one”.

Dalma shot you a meaningful look. Part of your bargain with her had been to set her free, and for that you needed the pieces of eight that each of the nine Pirate Lords carried with them, so at the time you supported her suggestion to summon the Brethren. Now, freeing Calypso would make everything considerably more complicated for you.

“I quite like the sound of that. Captain Jack Sparrow, the last pirate. Anyway, I’m not particularly excited to fight a lost battle. Beckett has the _Dutchman_ and the kraken, and he’ll soon have Miss Jones here too”.

“You and him both wish, mate”, you said.

“Then we get a stronger ally. Someone who can match the English navy and the Dutchman”, replied Barbossa, and everybody turned to him with surprise, including you. “A god”.

You paled, if that was possible. For a minute you felt found out, your talk with Chalchiuhtlicue somehow discovered, but using Her power was too daring, too risky. But if he didn’t mean that, it only left…

“Calypso”.

A shudder when through your body and Dalma’s face darkened. Her expression was unreadable, and when your eyes flickered to each other you found her assessing the situation, whether Barbossa might be a better, more trustworthy ally that you.

Liberating Calypso wasn’t good for you. You couldn’t kill a god, although truth be told you’d never tried, but it would surely be way easier if you managed to catch her off guard when she was still human. It was so simple, so easy: kill Calypso, a woman you cared not for, and your father would be free. Chalchiuhtlicue would rule the Caribbean again. That was what had been agreed, yes?

And somehow Calypso was standing just a few feet from you, listening to the pirates bicker, and you hadn’t jumped on her. She was still breathing, still walking the earth. The last time you’d fail to carry out the orders you’d been given you’d ended up with your father enslaved by the British and yourself in the bed of a pirate. This could go even worse.

Shit.

“Calypso is a legend, mate”.

“So is the Locker and the kraken, and yet here we are. Don’t tell me you’re a sceptical soul, Jack”, he laughed. “Calypso was imprisoned by the First Brethren Court, bound in human bones, and we got mastery of the seas, aye, but we also opened the door to all this scum who thinks they can take the seas from us. I say we release Calypso!”

“That would be a good idea save for the tiny detail it’s an absolutely terrible one. Why would she ever want to help us? After all, it was our ancestors who bound her. And where would you find her? Unless you know something the rest of us don’t…”

Barbossa looked at you sideways and your heart skipped a beat. He genuinely thought he was helping both you and himself by doing this, that you had some card up your sleeve for when the time to release the goddess came. Oh boy.

“Building castles in the air won’t help us if we die of thirst because we don’t have any clean water to drink”, said Elizabeth, snapping people back to attention. “We should stop by an island to refill our reserves”.

Arguing ensued and you massaged your temples, trying to make sense of everything that was going on.

“I’ll be back in a minute”, you said to no one in particular, as Barbossa, Jack, Will and Elizabeth were too busy arguing over what island would be the best choice for a pit stop. You made your way to the railing of the deck but the firm grip of a hand on your elbow stopped you from jumping into the sea.

“What do you think you’re doing”, hissed Dalma, her eyes as thin as slits.

“Saying hi to my pet”, you replied, almost spitting out the last word. The fact that the kraken was the only thing that made you feel normal was the last straw in obliterating your sanity and you’d rather not think too much about that. You removed Dalma’s hand from your arm with a grimace.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you? You think people believe your story? You think _I_ believe your story? I tried to warn you, Meridith. But you chose her. You chose wrong. It seems I might not need you after all”.

“And why exactly shouldn’t I have chosen her, Dalma? What good have you ever been to me or to my father? You wouldn’t have agreed to help us if your own freedom hadn’t been on the table. Even now I have no guarantee that you won’t bite us in the ass once you’re unbound. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. At least Chalchiuhtlicue didn’t trick Davy Jones into eternal slavery. That can’t be said about you”.

She looked as hurt as if you’d just slapped her across the face, but she stood her ground.

“You have a personal grudge against me and I respect that. I made my choices, even if a brat like you wouldn’t understand them, and I stand by them. But you’re wrong here, Meridith. I know Her. Chalchiuhtlicue is more ambitious than she lets on. Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile”.

“She said the same thing about you. I don’t give a shit about your ancient feuds, Calypso, I really don’t. What I do care about is who is actually useful to me to save my father. And unfortunately for you, she is, way more than you”.

“What did she ask of you, Meridith?” You didn’t answer. “What??”

“Don’t push me, Dalma. Don’t push me. You’re still human, and therefore _mortal_. Don’t forget that”.

And before she could question you further, you plunged into the waters of the Caribbean.

Compared to those of Tlalocan, these were clear, sparkly even, and warm. It was a pleasure to feel them around you: where Tlalocan had suffocated you, covered you like a sheet of oil, the Caribbean hugged you like a long-lost friend.

And speaking of long-lost friends, the water rippled and a growl shook the ground as the kraken set its massive eyes on you. Not a growl, really, more of a happy yapping for you who knew it, but the men aboard the _Pearl_ trembled at the sound of it and only relaxed slightly when they verified that no tentacles were crawling up the hull.

No, the tentacles were too busy poking you and pulling your hair, brushing you as if you were a tiny ragdoll in the hands of a titan, and you could only laugh, bubbles coming out of your mouth as you did so.

You could tell the poor thing was scared. As scared as a fifty-foot-long sea monster could be, at any rate. Beckett must have threatened to have it killed, and the whole transfer of power from the _Dutchman_ to Beckett must have been very confusing to it. You were as big as a single one of its eyes, and it observed you as you swam around it, sliding through its tentacles. It left the _Pearl_ , diving into the depths, and you followed it. Had you father known it would find you? Should you read it as a message that he was, if not fine, at least still alive? And what should you do about Calypso? Was there really no way you could trick both goddesses and still get your way?

The kraken’s head bumped against you were hurled across the water. You looked at it with a scolding expression, but its eyes were earnest, as if cautioning you. You were walking on thin ice and soon you’d have to own up to your actions.

But then you realised it didn’t mean that at all. A shadow covered you as two other ships appeared and closed in on the _Pearl_ , and the sound of a gunshot vibrated through the water.

You were under attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do confess that the kraken as Beto's pet was one of the first headcanons I had when coming up with this story. Imagine going "pspspsps" at a sea eldritch abomination... <333  
> Anyway, hope you're liking it! See you on Tuesday! :D


	46. You can't trust the English

You cursed under your breath and bubbles came out of your mouth. You had the upper hand with the newcomers, as they wouldn’t know where you were and you could take them by storm, but you had to be careful not to lose that element of surprise.

You approached the hull of the newly-arrived ships, swimming on your back until you managed to attach yourself to the wooden planks. One of them was old and blackened with age, and from the size and build of it you recognised it as a Singaporean vessel. The second one was exactly the opposite, pristinely new and lovingly constructed; even the metal that held it together looked posh. British, no doubt. Fucking Sao Feng had betrayed you and sold you out. Not that you’d expected anything else from him, but it stung nevertheless. Especially considering he’d sold you out to the _British_ of all people.

You ground your teeth as you tried to control the rage that was being born in your chest, and it was all you could do not to tear the wood to pieces then and there.

Of course, William Turner had to be in on it. He’d probably promised Sao Feng the same thing he’d promised Beckett. You could never trust the English. They think that toast on beans is an actual meal, the monsters. Never trust with your life somebody you wouldn’t trust with your food. But you’d make the little runt pay in time.

You had bigger things to worry about now.

You signalled the kraken to stay put and wait for you and, as silently as you could, you crawled up the hull of the Singaporean ship, along the rudder, until you managed you have a view of the deck but still be out of sight.

Tai Huang and his men had predictably turned on the _Pearl_ ’s crew and Jack, Elizabeth and Barbossa, together with Gibbs and all the rest, were being held at gunpoint rather unceremoniously.

And standing in the middle of the deck as if he owned the place, head high in triumph, was the Pirate Lord of Singapore, Sao Feng himself.

You couldn’t help but shudder at the sight of him. You two had never had the pleasure of meeting face to face, but you’d foiled enough of his “business” schemes that you had no doubt of how warmly he’d receive you if he were to find you. The scars that crisscrossed his scalp and the blackened and impossibly long nails, no doubt with the remains of many of his enemies’ skin still lumped under them, were more than enough proof of his merciless nature.

That and the fact that he’d clearly betrayed whatever agreement he’d struck with Turner.

“She’s not part of the bargain”, he was saying to an unimpressed Sao Feng.

“And what bargain be that?”, asked Barbossa, while Jack massaged his nose. Had Sao Feng hit him? Maybe you’d judged the guy too quickly and you could still be great friends, who knew.

“I’m not convinced that you can call upon the terms of our agreement, Captain Turner”, said Sao Feng, unmoved.

 _Captain_ Turner? So the little shit had mutinied against both Jack _and_ Barbossa? Bold move. You were beginning to lose count of the times William Turner had double-crossed you already. Maybe he was a better pirate than you’d given him credit for.

“You promised me two things and I’ve only received one of them. Jack Sparrow is here, but where is our dear friend Miss Jones?”

You rolled your eyes. Apparently half the Caribbean wanted you to meekly submit to their authority and do their dark bidding, as if they didn’t expect you to have a saying in it. Good luck with that, buddy.

“You’re a fool if you think that Beckett will let you have either Meridith _or_ the _Pearl_ ”, intervened Barbossa, spitting out his words. “And good luck trying to ‘get’ Meridith”.

“Aren’t you going to defend your little strumpet? Oh, yes, I know. My men have told me _many_ things about your relationship”, smiled Sao Feng, but Barbossa’s grin made his smile fade from his face.

“They’ve obviously not told you everything. She needs no protection from me or anybody else. She’ll sweep the floor with you, and I’ll be glad to watch”.

Before Sao Feng could punch Barbossa, as he clearly was dying to do, a cohort of British soldiers boarded the _Pearl_ , confirming Barbossa’s prediction. You only managed to catch a glimpse of a white man in a black hat and livery whose skin was as tight as Jack Sparrow’s ass at this point before you had to dive back into the water to avoid being detected. It was the guy you’d seen speaking with Will at Singapore a lifetime ago. Funny how your bad decisions come back to bite you in the ass, huh, Will?

Sao Feng probably wanted Jack either to have the pleasure of killing him himself or as a bargaining tool with the English, but you wondered exactly what he wanted from you. Did everybody think that the _Dutchman_ could be controlled through you? Would your father really relinquish this freedom for you?

He would.

The only option left to you then was to fuck up these people as hard as you could so they’d never even think of trying to get the better of you again. You needed a goddess’s powers. Either Chalchiuhtlicue or Calypso.

Or both.

Suddenly an idea popped up in your head and you saw your path more clearly than you had in months. You knew what you had to do, even if it might get you properly killed. Playing two goddesses at the same time was madness, but you were nothing if not mad, and life would be _so_ boring without a bit of risk.

Smiling, you latched yourself onto the hull of the _Pearl_ and climbed up to the figurehead, hoping it would disguise you.

Things had changed very quickly in the few minutes you’d been gone. Will was being held in chains and Sao Feng looked like a bomb ticking to explode as the man with the tight face took control of the ship that had been promised to him and which he’d in turn promised to Will. Result: nobody got what they wanted and your clothes were soaked again. Not a terribly pleasant day so far.

“Shame they’re not bound to honour the code of the Brethren, isn’t it?”

Barbossa approached a rabid Sao Feng, who snarled at him with blackened teeth.

“Honour is such a hard thing to come by nowadays”, he insisted.

“There’s no honour to remaining with the losing side”.

“The losing side, you say?”

“They have the _Dutchman_! Now the _Pearl_! What do the Brethren have, aside from a rogue undead pirate with no ship?”

“We have Calypso”.

The name rang through the files of men like a knell, and Sao Feng turned his head to where the rest of the _Pearl_ ’s crew stood. Dalma tried to make herself smaller, but you knew how hearing her true name spoken out loud make her feel. That small spark of hope, of freedom.

“Calypso is a legend”.

“You should know better than that. She was bound in human form, but I intend to release her, and for that I need the Brethren Court. The _whole_ Court. Do you not want back the control of the seas? To be the hero who released an unjustly bound goddess?”

Sao Feng’s fingers twitched but he looked again at the crew and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. If he took Dalma you were going to be in trouble. Or rather _he_ was going to.

“What are you proposing, Captain?”

“What be accepting, Captain?”

“The girl”, the Chinese pirate answered pointing at Elizabeth, and you rolled your eyes so hard they almost popped out of the back of your skull. 

Blasted idiots. Really? Had nobody noticed the weird voodoo lady that seemed to know too much? No, of course the goddess had to be the pretty white girl. Still, you could use that to your advantage, and Elizabeth would know how to keep Sao Feng busy until you managed to go help her.

Barbossa caught sight of you and surprise mixed with relief flashed through his eyes, but he managed to keep his face studiedly neutral. You made an indication with your hands that you were okay and that you’d be back as soon as possible. He discreetly mouthed something along the lines of “what the hell where are you going don’t leave” but you conveniently ignored him and, winking, you broke away from the _Pearl_.

Diving back into the water, you swam to the English ship. It was bigger than the _Interceptor_ and better manned, but you were lucky enough that most of the crew was too entertained by what was going on between Sao Feng’s _Empress_ and the _Black Pearl_. You huddled in the shadows of the stern, pushing yourself against the wall when you heard footsteps above you, and advanced towards the nearest door to the inside of the ship. On the other side of the nearest door you found a startled soldier, dressed in a red and white dress coat and with a ridiculous white wig, but you didn’t give him time to sound the alarm before you punched him in the face and cracked his neck with a single movement.

“Sweet dreams”, you whispered, and advanced. You had no time and no pity for the men that had put your father and ship in chains. They’d succumb to your hand one by one.

Three other soldiers appeared in your way before you managed to reach the stairs into the _Endeavour_ ’s bowels, and three bodies soon ended up sprawled on the floor, their lifeless eyes pointed towards the ceiling, like a sombre breadcrumb trail that lead to you. One of them had managed to sink his bayonet into your arm, but you barely noticed the gash. A stolen flintlock in one hand, your cutlass in the other, you made your way to what seemed one of the grandest rooms in the ship and opened it with a single thundering kick.

“Where is the heart?”, you asked, pointing the barrel of your gun to the powdered man who was sitting in the room taking tea.

Two soldiers, bodyguards for the little sour-faced man, immediately pointed their own guns to you, stiffening and panicking visibly, but you dived to the floor as soon as your ears recognised the hammer cocking and the bullet only grazed your cheek. Kicking one in the sheens, you hit him as hard as you could with the butt of your gun in the chin as he fell forward, splitting his bone with a wet crack, while the second one ran in aid of his companion and you took advantage of the split second he wasn’t looking at you to leap for him and cleanly sliced his throat with a single slash. The poor fellow didn’t even notice your blade tearing through his flesh until he fell to the floor, blood pooling at his neck.

The man at the tea table didn’t raise an eyebrow.

“Where is the heart”, you repeated, more of an order than a question, bringing the barrel next to his temple. His eyes scrutinised your face for a second and then turned to the men bleeding out on the floor of his cabin.

“Clearly not here, Miss Jones. But do sit down, now that you’ve graced us with your presence”.

His voice was calm, too calm for somebody who’d just seen his two bodyguards murdered in cold blood and was close to going the same way himself.

A memory flashed in your mind and you pressed your gun against his skin, tilting his head sideways. His hands still held his teacup but you relished seeing his pulse tremble.

“You’re the bastard that got the heart. I remember you, when you approached the _Dutchman_. That same fucking smug smile on your face”.

“Ah, yes, that must’ve been when you unfortunately fled from us”. He put the teacup down and his eyes trailed your face, but your gun was still cold against his temple. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Jones. I am Lord Cutler Beckett, Governor of the East India Trading Company”.

“A lot of fancy names for a sewer rat”.

“You are as feisty as they said you would be. I cannot say I’m disappointed”.

“Who said?”

“Have you said hello to our friends aboard the _Empress_? I am sure Sao Feng will be missing you. But he promised you to us, so he’s not a threat, fear not”.

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

“Not even the whole Company’s forces combined with Singapore’s would ever be a threat to me, mister. I fear no-one”.

“A bold statement. Exactly what we need from you at the Company”.

“I’m not for sale”.

“Apparently you are. At least as long as we have Davy Jones’ heart”.

“Where the fuck is it, Beckett. I won’t repeat myself a fourth time”.

“I would not recommend killing me, Miss Jones. It may seem appealing but I am sure you would not want your father to suffer the consequences”.

Your determination flickered and the finger on the trigger of your gun lost all the force it had. He might be bluffing, but he also might not… And the risks much outweighed the benefits. Wincing, you withdrew the gun. Beckett smiled and sipped his tea.

“The _Dutchman_ and yourself are real assets to the Company, Miss Jones. I hope we can cooperate”.

“You’d think blackmailing me over the life of my father wouldn’t make for a great working relationship”.

“You are smart, Miss Jones. I am sure you will soon see the benefits of working for us”.

“I’m a loose cannon, Lord Beckett. I’ve never played by the rules. And as I say, I fear no-one. Not even you. But I’m very good at hating, as I’m sure you’ll soon discover, and believe me when I say that when I hold a grudge, you’d better sleep with an eye open”.

Beckett pouted, as if you’d hurt him deeply with your words, but then shrugged.

“That is a shame indeed. But I am sure we can work on that. Until them, I am afraid that the _Dutchman_ will have to remain under _very_ strict vigilance. Both its crew and everything that it contains”.

“Ah”, you said, a wicked smile returning to your face. “So the heart is aboard the _Dutchman_ ”.

Beckett turned to you, a damning expression on his face for having let on more than he intended, but you were faster than him and knocked him out cold with the barrel of the gun. He collapsed on top of the little tea table, splashing the red-hot liquid everywhere, and despite his temple being covered with blood you could tell he was still breathing. Good. He’d die, but not now. His death would solve nothing now, and if he retaliated by ordering Jones killed he’d never be able to negotiate with you again. You’d just go berserk.

You ran out of the cabin, bumping into soldiers that had followed the trail of dead bodies, and somebody shouted a warning, but before either you or the men could face each other, the booming sound of cannonfire and the explosion of metal against wood shook the _Endeavour_. You fell over and toppled down the stairs, feeling several bruises forming all over your body, but as soon as the shaking stopped, you jumped to your feet and started shooting everybody that stood between you and the exit to the main deck.

Screaming like a demon from hell, you reached the sunlight, only to find the _Pearl_ attacking the _Endeavour_ with all its might. The _Empress_ was nowhere to be seen. The cannons of both ships roared and splinters flew through the air around you. It was mayhem.

It was home.

You ran through the deck, shooting and slashing every red and white coat you saw, while the _Pearl_ boomed. But the _Endeavour_ was bigger and better endowed, and the _Pearl_ ’s crew were tired and worn out after your stay at the Locker, and if Sao Feng had taken back his crew, the men who could fight could be counted with the fingers of one hand. Still, you wondered where the _Empress_ had gone. Had Sao Feng really relinquished the _Pearl_ and Jack Sparrow to the British? Had “Calypso” been a reward worth abandoning that prize?

You knew what could turn the tide in your favour. Men started yelling behind you and you thought you could hear Beckett’s voice screaming your name and Sparrow’s, but you didn’t look back as you jumped into the now misty waters of the Caribbean.

The two ships were at a stalemate. One of them had to go down, and every last man aboard the _Pearl_ was ready to do so fighting. The blood of British soldiers painted red the deck of the _Pearl_ , and Barbossa heaved, a bloody gash oozing from his cheek. He tried to find you by scanning the deck of the _Endeavour_ , but you were nowhere to be seen. His heart skipped a beat, remembering all too well how he’d almost lost you when the _Interceptor_ blew up, and gripped his sword so tight his knuckles went white.

And then the sea broke and split and the kraken emerged, a sight from Hell itself, with you astride its back and power etched on your face. You squealed with glee as the monster threw itself over the _Endeavour_ and wrapped its tentacles around the hull, tearing down everything in its path, men and ship alike. The mast went down with a crack, like a twig broken by a gust of wind, and men screamed like it was the end of the world.

“Go, go, go!”, screamed Jack at the few men that were still at his command, and the _Pearl_ started to turn, fleeing the site of the battle where the kraken was still devouring the British ship, and Barbossa made to protest but you slithered down the kraken’s tentacles and jumped, just in time, onto the deck of the _Pearl_.

Of course, you’d aimed so you’d fall right on top of Barbossa, who received you with a look made up of equal parts of surprise and dread, and you both toppled to the floor as the _Pearl_ turned its back on the _Endeavour_ and brandished the oldest and most respected of pirate traditions: running away.

“Hi, sweetheart”, you smiled at a befuddled Barbossa, but immediately got up and to business. “Where’s Will?”

“Did you just set the kraken on Beckett’s ship?”, blurted out a dismayed Gibbs.

“I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have one or two tricks up my sleeve, would I? Now, where is Young Mr. Turner?”

“Down in the brig, as he should be. By the gods, you’re crazy”, replied Jack.

“Why, thank you, Jack, such nice things you say to me. The kraken will keep them long enough for you to get to Shipwreck Cove in time for the Brethren”.

“ _You_? Aren’t you coming with us?”, asked Barbossa.

“I’ve got a few things to do first”.

“I’m still not going to Shipwreck Cove”, intervened Jack, “and seeing as this is _my_ ship, I don’t think neither us nor you are going there”.

“So sorry to hear that, Jack”, you pouted, “but that problem has a very simple solution”.

And without further ado you whacked him as hard as you could in the head, and as he toppled down unconscious, you turned to the rest of the horrified crew with a slightly deranged smile on your lips.

“Anybody wants to complain? No? Just as I thought. Pintel, Ragetti, take him down to keep Mr. Turner company until you reach Shipwreck Cove. And please, no mutinies on the way or the kraken may have to make the _Pearl_ a second visit, savvy?”

“I suppose I’m in charge now, madam?”, asked Barbossa, half jokingly.

“You suppose well”, and taking him by the arm you brought him near you so that nobody else heard your conversation. “I’m going after Sao Feng. I don’t trust him with Elizabeth’s life, much less so if he believes she is Calypso. And he’s betrayed us once, I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. I’ll meet you at Shipwreck Cove, hopefully with Elizabeth”.

“I don’t like the idea of you strolling away to god knows where on your own, not with everything that’s going on”.

His fingers dug into your arm and you felt him tense. Your eyes met and you smiled, a soft, warm smile that had nothing to do with the crazed smirk that you’d dedicated the crew seconds before. This smile was for his eyes only. Gently, you lifted your hands until you cupped his cheek in your palm and stroked his skin with your thumb, gently passing over his wound. He leaned into your touch.

“I promise I’ll be back, Hector”.

“I’ll take your word for it”.

He kissed you with a fierceness that betrayed his anxiety at being parted from you, and you realised that no matter how important your next task was, you hated the very thought of leaving him again. His touch felt hot against your skin and his heart beat with the strength of a hundred horses, and when you were finally forced to part, it was as though part of you was staying behind on the _Pearl_.

Barbossa looked into your eyes and you knew you had to tell him.

“Dalma is Calypso”.

“I’d gathered as much. For some reason, ever since I met you things just don’t surprise me as they used to”.

“Take her to Shipwreck Cove and don’t let her do anything stupid, will you? I need her alive”.

“For what, Beto? What are your plans? Why have I known you for almost two years and still can’t keep up with you for the life of me?”

“I like to keep you on your toes”, you smiled. “Please, Hector. Can you trust me?”

He stared at you for a few seconds and grinned. His answer was more than clear.

“Haul on the main brace and run out the sweeps! Put the rudder to Shipwreck Cover, you cack-handed deck apes!”

Shooting you one last look, Barbossa moved towards the helm as the crew, not without some hesitation, obeyed his orders. Nobody liked the thought of Jack downstairs, but risking your wrath for him was something completely different and probably not worth their efforts. He’d manage to get out before long, anyway.

But before you left…

“Hello, Dalma”, you saluted the sorceress, sauntering over to where she sat. “I’m gonna be gone for some time so I need you to be a nice goddess and don’t stir shit up. Can you do that for me?”

She didn’t reply, but looked at you as if she wanted nothing more than to strangle you. Which she probably did. You sighed and yanked her by the arm, bringing your mouth to her ear.

“ _She_ wants you dead. So be a good girl and don’t make me take her side, huh? We’ll talk when I return”.

Her face went ashen grey and she stood up brusquely, but you were on your way back down into the waters. The last thing you heard before the sea covered your ears was Dalma shouting your name to the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy to announce that I've finished writing the story and it will be 55 chapters in total, so please stick with Beto until the end! Love you all :3  
> I hope you're enjoying the fic! It's going to get intense from now onnnn


	47. A new Empress

Tracking the _Empress_ wasn’t too complicated. They’d tried to put as much distance between themselves and the British as they could, but it was easy to see that Sao Feng’s vessel was headed for Shipwreck Cove, despite having taken a rather longwinded route there. It seems he wasn’t going to run away after all. You hung onto the kraken until it reached the ship and left you attached to the hull. It dived into the depths until its shape was no longer visible, and you returned to your own prey.

The _Empress_ was very similar to the rundown ship Sao Feng had lent you only bigger. You recognised Tai Huang and several of the men that had voyaged with you to the Locker, which only made you grind your teeth at the glaring obviousness of Sao Feng’s treachery and the frustrating naiveté of Will Turner thinking that the pirate lord would keep his word.

The sun had gone down and torches had been lit all over the vessel, which paired with the mist that had started to rise from the sea, gave it a supernatural air. You took advantage of the incoming darkness and of your nondescript clothes to go unseen against the wooden hull. Men scuttled about the deck and you had to punch and throw two of them overboard when they discovered you climbing onto the railing. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the wet plop they made upon hitting the water.

Two men were stationed in front of the door that led to what looked like the captain’s cabin, and they chatted in hushed whispers about the loot their master had acquired, the blond woman. They didn’t seem very happy that Sao Feng had run with his tail between his legs from Beckett, leaving the _Pearl_ , which should’ve belonged to him, to its own devices, all for a woman. Which led you to deduce that the Pirate Lord hadn’t shared with his crew his discovery of “Calypso”. Why? Did he want her all to himself? Was he expecting to be the sole beneficiary of the goddess’s gifts? Or was he just after what every man wants of a woman when they’re alone?

Suddenly leaving Elizabeth with Sao Feng seemed like a terrible idea.

Circling the stern of the _Empress_ , you reached a windowed area that wasn’t guarded and took advantage of the breaking of a particularly big wave against the hull to break the glass and get it. The windows opened to a sort of hallway with stairs that led deep into the ship. It was obvious the _Empress_ wasn’t a fighting vessel, but rather Sao Feng’s comfortable living quarters for his travels at sea. Too small, too ornate, too defenceless. You could take the whole bloody thing on your own if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t risk Elizabeth’s life. You’d grown to care for her and if a bad move of yours caused her death, you’d never forgive yourself for it.

It was easy enough to follow the murmur of voices and the smell of incense downstairs. The air was heavy with the intoxicating sweetness of Sao Feng’s Chinese joss sticks and it almost clouded the small hallway. The smell was so thick that you had to rub your nose and eyes before advancing further and the two seconds you stopped to do it were enough for you to bump into one of Sao Feng’s attendants. The woman and you looked at each other wide-eyed in shock, and you immediately recognised her as one of the twins that had attacked you in Singapore. Her face turned into a grimace full of hate and she jumped at you, slipping a knife out of her sleeve.

“Murderous whore!”

“And I’m Meridith, _enchantée_ ”, you replied as you very narrowly dodged her blade and threw yourself against the wall of the stairway. There was less than half a metre between you, no space at all to fight, but you had to get the woman out of the way before she gave you away. She brandished the knife against you and your back hit the wall with a muffled thud while you gripped her wrists together and held the blade inches away from your face. From behind the bend into which the stairs disappeared you could hear Sao Feng’s voice, sounding as usual very pleased with himself. Was Elizabeth safe? The thought of her hurt or even touched by that man lit a fire under your ass and you let your grip go. The woman gasped in surprise as the momentum made the knife sink into your chest until only the hilt protruded from your flesh. Her eyes met yours with horror shining in them and you grinned.

“Boo”.

Your hand seized her throat with the speed of lightning and hurled her against the other side of the hallway with such strength that her body toppled to the ground like a broken doll, limbs bent at impossible angles. You crouched by her side.

“Sorry. It’s not personal”, you said as you slit her throat, sparing her a more painful end from her wounds.

Your attention immediately shifted to the room behind the staircase. Sao Feng was still blabbering about freedom and power, no doubt trying to coax the woman he thought was Calypso into surrendering to him. Walking over the body of the assassin, you stuck your back to the wall and approached the door, managing to steal a glance inside.

Sao Feng was dressed… well… lightly. Comfortably. As if he was trying to be _seductive_. Not a sight you’d ever wanted to see but there it was, burnt into your retinas. On the other side of the room, trying to maintain her composure as best she could, was Elizabeth, wearing the most beautiful Chinese gown you’d ever seen, complete with a richly crafted headdress with really made her look like a goddess. Sao Feng was advancing towards her, a sly smile on his lips that made your blood curl.

“All men are drawn to the sea, Calypso, perilous though it may be”.

Oh, Sao Feng’s sweet talk. It would be less painful if he just skewered her with his sword.

“And some men offer desire as justification for their crimes”, Elizabeth replied. Good job, girl.

“I offer simply my desire”.

“And in return?”

“I would have your gifts, should you choose to give them”.

“Ah. And if I should choose… not?”

Elizabeth was playing a dangerous game, but you could tell she was enjoying it. She was powerful and majestic, and her sole presence in that chamber almost dwarfed that of Sao Feng himself. You just had to like her.

She saw you and a flash of surprise crossed her features as Sao Feng jumped on her.

“Then I shall take your fury!”

“Take mine, you dirty scoundrel”, you replied, rushing from the doorframe and punching him in the face as hard as you could, feeling your knuckles connect with his cheek. He didn’t expect you at all and the momentum of your blow threw him across the floor, rolling against the furniture. He grunted and looked up at you. Blood trailed down his nose.

“Hello, captain”, you grinned, and Sao Feng’s features twisted into a mask of shock and anger, but also of fear.

“You…”

You opened your mouth to make a snide remark about how terrified of you he seemed to be, but then time stopped, or you thought it did, as everything slowed down around you, and for a split second where you felt the same cold and dread that you’d been soaked in in Tlalocan, you raised your eyes and saw Him at the back of the room.

A smiling skull, draped in blood and human bones, looked at you from the shadows. His eyes, twinkling with a cruel light, twirled in their sockets, as did the many eyeballs He wore around His neck, and His owl-feathered headdress cast a shadow over the cabin that would’ve stopped your heart if it’d been beating in the first place. Over his right shoulder burned a blinding blue light. You’d never seen it before, but you’d know your soul anywhere.

Slowly, Mictlantecuhtli raised a bony hand and waved at you.

And then the _Empress_ was blown to smithereens.

The Master of Mictlan vanished with the first blown of cannonfire against Sao Feng’s ship, which rocked the _Empress_ as if it was made out of paper. Both you, Elizabeth and Sao Feng were hurled halfway across the room amongst the splinters and burning draperies of the ruined room. You lost both of them with the smoke and the noise as your head hit the wall and your skull cracked against it. A deafening whistle rang through your head, destabilising you, but as your bones instantly began mending themselves and popping back into place with a wet snap, you got back on your feet and studied your surroundings.

Elizabeth was dizzy and covered in dust but otherwise unhurt, but when her eyes darted to the other side of the cabin and widened in horror, you realised how much things had gone south in the blink of an eye.

Laying on the ground, a broken piece of wood jutting out of his stomach, Sao Feng raised a trembling hand towards you. You froze at the sight. Gone was the swagger, the confidence, the presence of the man who’d ruled Singapore with an iron fist. He had shrivelled, broken as he was on the ground, splayed with blood and trembling limbs. You could almost see the bony fingers of Mictlantecuhtli closing around his throat as he tried to utter a few last words, but his voice came out strangled.

“Sao Feng!”, cried Elizabeth, going to his aid. The pirate’s hand caressed her hair with a shaky hand but let her go at once, using up all his remaining force to grip her arm and whisper in her ear.

“Forgive me, Calypso”.

When Elizabeth finally stood up again, holding a necklace with a piece of jade that Sao Feng had pushed into her hand, the life had gone out of the pirate’s eyes. A mist veiled them and you could only wish him safe passage to the watery lands of Tlalocan. _Sit Locker tibi levem_.

Your eyes crossed and Elizabeth shot you a pleading look, but you both knew what Sao Feng’s handing over of the necklace meant. Before you could say anything, another cannon boomed and shook the _Empress_ , and the shouting outside increased.

But that cannon stirred something in you, and your eyes darted outside, through the smashed window, the sweetest of siren calls. Impossible.

“Captain! The British are…!”

Tai Huang appeared at the door, almost tripping with his own legs, but froze upon seeing his captain dead on the ground and Elizabeth holding the Pirate Lord’s piece of eight. He didn’t even recognise you.

“He made _you_ captain?”

Gunshots ripped through the night and you knew you had to move. Every second was vital.

“Elizabeth”, you shook the dumbfounded woman, “you’re captain of the _Empress_ now. You’re a Pirate Lord. Sao Feng may have given you that power for the wrong reasons, but you have it now. _Make it count_ ”.

“What…”, she managed to stutter while Tai Huang huffed and ran back upstairs.

“Beckett must have managed to survive somehow, or the British managed to track the _Empress_ after Sao Feng betrayed them and left the _Pearl_ to its own devices. But they made a very, _very_ big mistake”.

If you’d had a heart, it would have been beating hard enough to jump out of your chest. The corners of your mouth curved upward with a sinister sort of glee.

“They sent the _Flying Dutchman_ after us”.

A third boom of cannonfire struck the ship, but this time it was nothing but angelic music to your ears. It was the sound of home. It was the sound of victory.

“That’s your father’s ship blasting holes in _my_ ship?”, she asked, outraged.

“Glad to see you’ve stepped up to your duties willfully!”, you joked, truly impressed. “Distract the English, you have the upper hand being the captain and being… well, _you_. They won’t expect you”.

“And you?”

“I’ll go get the heart. It’s aboard the _Dutchman_ , Beckett told me as much”, you explained when she stared at you as if you were mad. “If I secure the heart, the _Dutchman_ will be free again and we’ll deal a terrible blow to the Company!”

“Last time we bumped into Jones he didn’t seem to be very keen on helping us!”, she reminded you.

“He doesn’t have a choice! It’s either us or Beckett, and I can tell you for sure which side he’ll pick, even if I have to kick his ass to get him to do it”.

Elizabeth stopped and thought about your plan before finally nodding to you. She started heading towards the stairs, but then she turned on her heels and hugged you tight. You tensed at the unexpected contact, thinking that either she was going mad or you were, and when Elizabeth looked into your eyes she only had one thing to say to you.

“Be careful”.

You could only admire her courage and fearlessness as she disappeared through the door, dressed in her Chinese regalia and clutching Sao Feng’s piece of eight. The responsibility of captaining a pirate crew had been suddenly shoved upon her shoulders, but you had no doubts whatsoever that she’d been born for this. The _Empress_ had a new ruler worthy of its vessel’s name and anyone who opposed her would be nothing but a fool.

And now it was your turn to reclaim your own crown.

Next to the _Dutchman_ , the _Empress_ was like a newborn fawn, a tiny pathetic thing desperately trying to stand upright while its earnest elder loomed over it. You held back your breath when its magnificent hull came into sight from the broken windows of Sao Feng’s cabin. Tears of pride and nostalgia stung your eyes and you could only smile at your ship, your home, your family.

Without thinking about it twice, you jumped into the night-black waters of the Caribbean and swam towards the _Dutchman_. Even the wood from the keel felt comfortingly familiar to your touch as you latched onto the ship and climbed up its steep surface, sinking your nails onto each plank, as flat against it as you could to avoid being detected by the British, whose screams and orders, in that cumbersome accent that rolled around their palates, could be heard all around the ship.

Controlling the bubbling anger that roiled inside you, you jumped onto the lower gallery and made your way upstairs. Nobody noticed you, moving as stealthily as a shadow through the seaweed-covered corridors, with a very clear destination in mind. This time you wouldn’t fail. This was it.

Davy Jones watched in silence the smoking shell of the Chinese vessel he’d attacked under orders from Mercer, Beckett’s ruthless enforcer, and from the whelp whom Beckett had appointed as overseer for the _Dutchman_ , a young man who looked more like a pup than a real sailor. He hated every minute of this ridiculous farce, he hated the men that forced him to enact it and, most of all, he hated himself for having been weak enough to allow it to happen.

The heart was his biggest weakness, and no matter how powerful and mighty he thought he was, if it ended up in the wrong hands, as was the case, he was nothing. There was no point in heroic acts that might get him killed – the _Dutchman_ must always have a captain, and whatever miserable devil ended up with his heart at the service of the ship would end up as enslaved to the British as he was. No, the _Dutchman_ was his and so it would remain. If only he could get to the heart… If only…

The young commander, Norrington, made to cross over to the _Empress_ and assess the damage and the prisoners, if any were to be made, but before he approached Jones, who sized him up with a disapproving look.

“You will behave, Captain. Remember that this ship now belongs to the Company”.

“I wouldn’t recommend talking to other people with such haughtiness, Admiral”, he replied surly. “You may end up regretting it”.

Norrington frowned and decided that he wouldn’t be taking his chances with Jones.

“Come aboard with us and take some of your men. You’ll man the _Empress_ with part of your crew to ensure it doesn’t escape again”.

“I would’ve thought my cannons had taken care of that already”, he mocked him, but obeyed. The heart was too near the two guns that kept it in place to take such a risk.

With Maccus in tow, he crossed onto the _Empress_ , which was as shabby up close as it had seemed from the distance, to find a blond young woman standing up for the whole crew. She was clearly a Westerner, despite her luxurious Chinese attire, but the men did acknowledge her as their captain, albeit grudgingly. Something had happened aboard the _Empress_ , and Jones cocked an eyebrow at the girl as Norrington almost threw himself at her feet.

“Elizabeth! Oh my god, Elizabeth!”

“James!”

She looked at him, hope flashing in her eyes, but made no move to step away from the huddled men that made up her crew.

“Thank god you’re alive. Your father will be overjoyed to know you’re safe”.

A shadow crossed the woman’s features and she tensed.

“My father is dead”.

“No, but… That can’t be true! He returned to England!”

Jones scoffed. He had no interest in petty lovers’ quarrels. He’d had enough of that in his time. If it was up to him he’d just slaughter everybody on board and go on his way, but as long as the heart was under custody… If only…

Elizabeth rejected Norrington’s hand, who’d tried to comfort her, and he looked at a terrible loss for words while she stood proud and unyielding, a captain that Davy Jones himself could almost admire if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“I had no idea, Elizabeth. I swear”.

“Don’t swear anything to me. I’m not the one you’ll be hold accountable to”.

“What do you mean?”

Elizabeth didn’t need to explain herself as gunfire exploded aboard the _Dutchman_ before being stifled in the blink of an eye. Men’s screams cut through the night for a heartbeat before being substituted by the slick scraping of blade against flesh and bone, and then silence.

And then, before Norrington could sound the alarm, you appeared like a vision from Hell, jumping from the deck of the _Dutchman_ to the bannister of the _Empress_ , and grinned at your shocked audience, a bloody sword in your right hand and beating heart in your left.

“Missed me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! See you on Tuesday!


	48. Trust me

Growing up with a man like Davy Jones hadn’t been easy. He’d been a gentle soul, a kind man, once, but the bitterness and the treachery he’d suffered at the hands of the woman he loved had made him difficult and unpredictable. Add that to the upbringing of a child and you’d have a lovely recipe for disaster, which could very well account for how you’d turned out. You’d argued, a lot and very loudly, but somehow you’d always ended up reconciling. You couldn’t hate him enough not to go back to him.

Last time you’d seen him, he’d sentenced Barbossa to a certain death, being devoured by the kraken, despite his help and your pleading. You’d hated him with a passion and you’d told yourself that you’d never forgive him, but now, seeing him in front of you in the flesh, after everything that had happened, you couldn’t find it in you to hate him. It was all you could do to keep your composure and smile smugly as if you had not a care in the world while everybody alternated staring at you and at the heart you gripped in your hand.

“Meridith”, whispered Jones, and it was all you could do not to throw yourself at him and clasp your arms around him.

Instead, you offered him his heart.

Its beating was almost deafening in the silence that ensued.

And then Jones yelled his lungs out.

“The _Dutchman_ is free! Kill them! _KILL THEM ALL!_ ”

It had been so easy to retake the _Dutchman_. You knew all its nooks and crannies, every single shortcut, so the poor devils who’d been tasked with looking after the heart never saw you coming. Your blade had sliced through them as effortlessly as the rain that Tlaloc made fall on the deck of the _Dutchman_ , seeping into its deepest corners. The ones holding the guns to the chest had been the first to fall. Their comrades lasted just a few minutes longer.

And when you emerged from the captain’s cabin holding the heart and covered in blood, your men had immediately fallen on the British crew that remained aboard. They’d all died screaming, just like the wretched souls that now couldn’t do anything but witness their own doom as the _Dutchman_ turned on them, the fury of cursed Davy Jones unleashed upon them. The _Flying Dutchman_ was once again the master of its own fate. Its enemies better beware.

The last bastion of British resistance was quickly wiped out as your father turned to a terrified-looking man who nevertheless tried to stand up to him – at least you’d give him that. You recognised him as the man Will Turner had spoken to on Singapore, the same one who’d boarded the _Empress_ and crushed Sao Feng’s dreams of seeing himself as captain of the _Pearl_. Beckett’s envoy, then, probably his right hand.

For his own good, you hoped Beckett was left-handed.

“Are you mad?”, the man screeched.

“Tell me, Mr. Mercer”, replied your father, wrapping his tentacles around Mercer’s neck, “Do you fear death?”

You didn’t want to miss a second of it when Davy Jones slowly suffocated the man before the petrified eyes of his subordinates, introducing his tentacles into every orifice of his head: mouth, nose, ears, eyes – cartilage popped and bone crunched as his whole skull dislocated and Mercer’s face became nothing but a gory mess of flesh and tentacles that sucked the life out of him.

 _This better not awaken something in me_ , you thought.

Mercer’s body fell limply to the floor and the remaining men who stood with him soon followed suit.

“Not her”, you stopped your men as they advanced on a terrified Elizabeth who, however, stood her ground as the last defence between the _Dutchman_ ’s nightmare crew and her own men. She had the poise of a pirate captain, no doubt, but she knew they were outnumbered and overpowered and her eyes searched for yours as she assessed whether she could still trust you.

Maccus and Angler grunted something, their eyes jumping from you to Elizabeth, but you were once again in command.

“Not her”, you insisted. “Or her crew. Or the gentleman who’s grasping onto her arm for dear life. Sorry, do I know you? I recall a giant hamster wheel or something of the sort… Anyway, Captain Swann is an ally. I do not want her harmed, got it?”

“Why is she an ally? She seems to be on very good terms with Admiral Norrington here”, intervened your father, walking up to you after returning the heart to the chest and sending it away for safekeeping. Around you, without your even realising it, a ring of sailors had formed, eager to see where this took you.

“Except for the part where he’d have put her in irons if he hadn’t been sweet on her”. You turned to Norrington. “Sorry, mate, but it’s painfully obvious”, and back to Jones. “Elizabeth is now captain of the _Empress_ and one of the nine Pirate Lords, Captain, and wouldn’t we want to have an ally amongst that bunch? Especially with what they’re planning to do”.

A rumour rippled through the crowd and the men eyes each other nervously. Jones kept a studied poker face but you felt every tentacle in his body tensing.

“What are they planning to do?”

“They’re going to release Calypso”.

If your previous statement had started a rumour, this was akin to a tsunami sweeping the ship. The ruckus deafened you. Everybody started talking at the same time. Everybody had an opinion on the motives or consequences of the Brethren Court releasing a centuries-bound sea goddess.

Everybody except Davy Jones.

Your father paled, which only you managed to notice for you knew him better than you knew yourself. For a split second he became undone, sorrow and regret and anger flashing in his eyes, but as fast as it had come over him it was gone, and he was once again the imperturbable captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Only you knew the impact the news had had on him.

“That’s impossible. How do you know that?”

“It was actually Hector’s idea”.

“I should have killed the bastard”.

“Yes, dad, I’m glad to see you too”.

“Freeing Calypso will solve _nothing_. It will only bring doom upon us all. She can’t be trusted! How have you been so insensate to agree to this?”

“My reasons are my own”, you replied succinctly. “But you cannot be naïve enough to think that the _Dutchman_ on its own will be enough to free the Caribbean. Not for good. We need an alliance with the Brethren. We need Elizabeth and her voice at the council”.

“I can’t convince a whole court of pirates to do as I tell them!”, she protested from behind you, but you shrugged nonchalantly without turning.

“You managed to convince Jack Sparrow to sacrifice himself and the _Pearl_ to the kraken to save you, I’d say you have a pretty good chance at this”.

Davy Jones locked eyes with yours and you held his gaze for what seemed an eternity until he grunted and turned to Maccus.

“Take Captain Swann and her men belowdecks, I want them under constant guard. And tow the _Empress_. Any suspicious movements and you’ll regret it, understood?”

“Give them comfortable quarters, will you?”, you added. “Consider them my guests”.

Elizabeth nodded a silent thanks and followed Maccus. You suddenly found funny that she’d be where Will had been only a few months back. Ah, the twists and turns of life. Before they disappeared you walked over to Jimmy Legs and asked him to make sure everybody kept an eye on Norrington.

“I want to know everything he knows on the movements of the British. Everything. Where they’re stationed, where they’re headed, what their next movements are. I want to know in what direction they’re even breathing. Get me that info”.

The deck was moist and soft, just as you remembered it, and the wooden planks creaked under your feet as you walked over it, indulging in the feeling of being home again. You breathed in the scent of the sea, of salt and foam and wood and gunpowder, and grinned like a madwoman. You felt _good_. You still had an ugly battle to fight ahead of you, but you liked to enjoy the little moments that gave you some respite. You were home. You’d saved the _Dutchman_. You could celebrate that much.

Your men circled you, eager to welcome you back and celebrate your return, but duty soon called you back into action.

“Miss Jones”, you heard your father’s voice behind you, stern as ever. “My cabin. Now”.

 _Ah, shit, here we go again_ , you thought, and followed your captain to his office.

Presided by the massive organ, which had been silent ever since the _Dutchman_ had come into the possession of the British, it had barely been cleaned and stripped of the corpses of the unfortunate men that had been guarding the heart. Pools of blood were splattered everywhere and an occasional limb or piece of person dotted the room, but you soon forgot about all that when, as soon as Jones closed the door, he threw his arms around you and pulled you against him in the tightest embrace he’d ever given you.

“My girl… You’ve come back to me… You’re back…”

His voice broke and he began to tremble, and you snapped. Tears flowed down your cheeks and tasted salty as they slipped between your lips, and you buried your face in your father’s chest, crying like a baby who’s finally being held by its loved one again.

“I’m so sorry, dad, I’m so sorry… I’ve missed you so much…”, you sobbed, and he stroked your head with his tentacled hand, with so much gentleness you couldn’t but clutch him harder.

“It’s okay now… It’s okay…”

The silence enfolded you as you stood hugging each other for what seemed like an eternity, and you wouldn’t have moved from your father’s embrace for the world.

But you had to get moving. Time was of the essence.

Breaking away from him, you sniffled and wiped away your tears.

“I can’t do this kind of shit without some rum. Did the British take all the bottles?”

“You can’t get drunk, Beto. You physically can’t”.

“You can’t stop me _trying_ ”.

Luckily for you, and for poor Norrington in the brig, who would’ve paid the price of his men stealing all your alcohol, you managed to find a single bottle of something that wasn’t rum but tasted sweet and tangy hidden behind one of the desks of the captain’s cabin. It would do. The worst you’d get in case of poisoning would be an indigestion and a mild case of diarrhoea, and you could live with that.

You father took a seat near his organ, in his usual spot, and to his left you spied the chest, tucked away in a corner. The faint beating of the heart within it echoed in your ears.

“Tell me everything. Start at the beginning”.

“It was a clear starry night in the Locker when…”

“Beto”.

“Fine!”

You told him everything… except for the parts you did _not_ tell him. As with everyone else, you withheld the agreement you’d reached with Chalchiuhtlicue. He raised his eyebrows with pretty much every part of the story, from Barbossa surviving the kraken to your unexpected visit to the Locker and, especially, your meeting with the Lady of Tlalocan and with Tia Dalma. You could read in his eyes that he suspected you weren’t telling the whole truth, but your evasiveness even before in the deck told him it would be near impossible to get the whole story out of you.

“Too many gods involved in this for my taste”, he concluded after reflecting on your story for a few minutes.

“Amen to that”.

“Gods have their own twisted agendas, Beto, I don’t need to tell you that. Calypso cannot be freed”.

“It’s not that simple”.

“It is!”, he exploded. “Look at me! Look around you! This is her doing! Her selfishness, her cruelty, her evil! She was punished accordingly and that must _not_ be undone, lest we all perish by her hand”.

“Would you rather she died and was gone for good?”

Jones stumbled at your question. The fire he’d show suddenly went out, as if extinguished by a sudden wave. Ah. Just as you’d expected.

Cautiously, you walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Dad, listen to me. I have a plan. It’s probably a terrible plan because there are so many variables and so many things and people to take into account that I’m sure I’m forgetting something because I only have two working brain cells and, well, you know me, so this may either backfire spectacularly or gain us our freedom. Real freedom. Forever. And I’ll fight until my last breath to make sure that’s the outcome we get. But for that I need you to trust me. Please”.

Jones considered your words. Encouraging you were not, but there was not sense in lying to him and pretending you had everything under control. You didn’t, but so far things had worked out in your favour, and you hoped this time they would too.

He sighed.

“What do you need me to do?”

“First, take us to Shipwreck Cove. I have unfinished business there”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Do leave a comment if you're liking it, us authors thrive on comments! :D  
> See you on Friday!


	49. If only you had a heart to give

Shipwreck Cove was certainly something to behold.

It was located in the crater of a dead volcano, because pirates have no limits to how extra they can be, in Shipwreck Island, and contained the settlement known as Shipwreck City, which goes on to show that the whole worldwide pirate community shared, being generous, one and a half brain cells tops.

Built out of literal wrecked ships, mounted one on top of another, Shipwreck City was a towering monster that emerged out of the sea and glowered in the dying light of dusk. Torches had been lit inside, making the old ships’ portholes look like eyes that stared at you as the _Dutchman_ slowly approached.

Its harbour was already full of ships bearing flags from all over the place: you recognised Mistress Ching’s jolly roger, as well as Chevalle’s flag with his characteristic heart, and Sri Sumbhajee’s dhows, who still had an arrest warrant out for you for having laughed at his voice years ago. You swallowed hard.

“I’ve either insulted, maimed or stolen shit from at least half these people”, you muttered under your breath to Jones, who came to stand by your side as you looked at the cove where the _Pearl_ and Barbossa were waiting for you. You longed to go to him and feel his comforting warmth around you once more. It had been too long since you’d had him in your arms and you missed him terribly, but at the same time you couldn’t help but dread the task that had taken you there.

Looking out of the corner of your eye, you saw your father deep in thought. His eyes were focused on the glittering city and you could almost feel the pull towards the goddess that awaited inside. Could he feel her somehow? Was their bond that strong still, after everything?

“Are you alright?”, you asked as you leaned on the bannister. Jones smiled wryly.

“That should be my line”.

“Well, I have the advantage of being literally unkillable, so I’ll take my chances. Plus coming protected by the crews of no less than three Pirate Lords should surely help my chances of avoiding a bullet to the head. Or not. We all know how politics works”.

Jones let out a dry laugh, but after a minute of though his face went serious again. Behind you, Maccus was giving orders to a very unconvinced Tai Huang as Elizabeth prepared to sail the _Empress_ into the cove’s harbour. It wouldn’t do to appear with the _Dutchman_ – it would be as good as signing your own death warrant, and Elizabeth’s voice would be needed at the summit.

“She’s here”.

“I know”.

“I don’t want to see her”.

“Don’t you?”

“There’s no happy ending for us, Beto. No reconciliation on a beach, no kiss under the stars. Not for us”.

He wasn’t talking to you, but to himself. He wanted so desperately to believe that, to give up any remnant of hope that had refused to disappear over the centuries, but you knew him better than that.

“Why did you keep her medallion all this time?”

Jones turned to you, a bewildered expression on his face. You stood your ground and didn’t look away.

“You said you hated her. You could’ve thrown it away anytime. I’m sure you thought of it many times. But you kept it. And so did she. Why?”

“Has your time with Barbossa softened you, Beto? Are you gonna believe now in fairytales and look for your prince charming?”

“He’s neither a prince nor particularly charming”, you shrugged, “but I think I’ll manage. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve failed to answer my question”.

“Bah! Just make sure that she does _not_ get released. Do whatever you must, but make sure of it”.

“Do you want me to give her a message?”

He did. Of course he did. But there was no way you’d ever be able to convey everything that he wanted to say to his old lover, all those centuries of bottled-up feelings and pain.

“No”, he answered simply and moved away.

You looked at his figure amongst the crew and wondered at what might be going on inside his mind. He’d tried to play it cool regarding Calypso but you were quite sure you hadn’t seen the last of him yet. You didn’t for a minute believe that he cared so little about her fate.

“Are we ready?”, asked Elizabeth, coming up to you. She was wearing a black embroidered tunic with a dark sash, an equally impressive pirate hat and a sword bigger than her arm. You whistled in admiration.

“Let me go with you”, said Maccus, right behind her.

“Yes, Maccus, you’ll surely go unnoticed in there. I’m sure many fine pirates have a hammerhead shark’s face”.

“I’m just worried about you”, he grumbled, but you frowned so deeply he shuddered.

“I’m your superior, Maccus, in both power and station. Worrying about me is none of your business. Know your place”.

You could tell your words had hit him like a punch to the gut. He nodded and retraced his steps without looking you in the face. You liked him and he was one of your closest friends aboard the _Dutchman_ , but he couldn’t keep treating you like a fragile damsel in distress. Even if you made mistakes, they were yours to make and the consequences yours to face. You couldn’t have your own men belittling your authority in front of others.

“Yes, Elizabeth, we’re ready”, you sighed, and got all your belongings to face the enraged pirates of the Brethren.

You were loath to leave the _Dutchman_ again so soon after such a long separation, but it was inevitable. You couldn’t very well walk into the bloody Brethren Court with your cursed crew who’d chased them throughout the seas for years. It would probably not be terribly conducive to a good deal between all the interested parties.

Not that you were going to take part in the actual summit. Hell no. You’d much rather have your nails peeled off with burning pliers. Elizabeth, Jack and Barbossa would take care of the negotiations with the rest of the pirates; you had a very different goal.

You’d forgo the Brethren Court because, in the end, you didn’t care what they decided to go. Release Calypso, not release her, fight, run, none of it mattered. Not really.

You were going to kill Calypso and that was all there was to it.

Once she was dead, the _Dutchman_ would be truly free of the shackles she’d imposed on it and you’d possess the power of Chalchiuhtlicue. You’d fight next to Barbossa if need be, and you’d win. That didn’t worry you.

Plunging your blade into her heart did.

“Give Hector my best”, you told the captain of the _Empress_ as soon as you dropped anchor in one of the many inlets of Shipwreck Cove, at the feet of the sprawling behemoth of the city. You pulled your hat down until it obscured your face. You didn’t want word spreading that you were there.

“Are you not coming with?”, Elizabeth asked, surprised.

“Not one for politics. Those ruffians would be at my throat before you could say ‘parley’. Plus, I’ve got something to do first”.

“Has it got to do with Dalma? She’s Calypso, isn’t it?”

You whipped your head towards Elizabeth. The bloody woman didn’t let one pass, did she? Very quick on the uptake, almost too much for her own good.

“It’s obvious you’ve got things to settle between you two. And she’s Davy Jones old lover, isn’t she?”

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

“Should I?”

You cocked your head and shrugged.

“Maybe. Not that I’ll let you, but maybe”.

Elizabeth hesitated for a second. You could see her considering all the options of why you’d rather go meet a woman you hated before the man you loved, and for a second you feared she’d actually try to block your way, but then she stepped aside.

“You’re crazy and unpredictable, but I trust you. You’re on our side. I know as much”.

You swallowed hard.

“Really? You’re going to trust me just like that?”

“I think you’ve earned it. But don’t let it get to your head”.

She smiled, two dimples forming on her cheeks, and walked away from you with a brisk pace, followed by her crew and Norrington, who shot you a distrustful look before leaving. You and Elizabeth had formed an unlikely bond, one you’d never expected after the way in which you two had met, but the tears that stung your eyes and that you were fighting to hold back told you just how much you’d come to appreciate that blind trust that she kept placing on you.

You just had to hope that you’d be worthy of it.

Finding Dalma turned out to be a trickier task than you’d anticipated. She hadn’t followed the crew of the _Pearl_ into Shipwreck City and she wasn’t anywhere near the chambers where the Brethren was to meet. Even several floors below the room in question, you could hear the ruckus that nine Pirate Lords and their entourages were producing. The screams were sometimes punctuated by gunshots, in what you imagined was being a most fruitful discussion of how to proceed.

When you finally found her, it was in the last place you’d ever imagined her to be.

“It seems you’ve lost our friends’ favour”, you grinned as you into the brig of the _Pearl_.

Dalma bared her teeth at you and spat on the ground. Apparently Barbossa’s take on “don’t let her do anything stupid” had been “let’s leave her unattended on a deserted ship”. You should have to discuss his priorities later.

“You have your lover to thank for that. He told the crew of my true identity and they all decided that I’d be better off locked away. Contained”.

“As if you could be contained”.

Her fingers gripped the metal bars of her prison.

“Exactly”.

You stared at her, for the first time in many years actually taking her in. You’d let your hate for her blind you so much that you’d subconsciously refused to see her properly, turning her into a shadow at the edge of your vision, a hateful ghost from the past. But now that you saw her, you saw her pain, her toils, her impotence at having everything that she was and that she loved taken away from her. But you also saw passion, fire, defiance. You saw the woman that Davy Jones had fallen for so long ago.

The hand you’d placed upon the pommel of your sword shook.

“Calypso…”

She went pale.

“Why are you here?”

“I think you know why”.

“I wasn’t talking to you”, she snapped, and almost instinctively, following her eyes, you turned on your heels to find the person you’d expected to find from the very beginning.

Davy Jones emerged from the shadows of the brig with an unfathomable expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but quiver.

The three of you stood in silence, looking at each other. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Finally, Dalma let out the breath that she’d been holding. In her hand she clutched the twin medallion to the one that hung from your father’s neck.

“My sweet. You’ve come for me”.

“You were expecting me”.

“It has been torture. Trapped in this single form. Cut off from the sea, from everything I loved… From you”.

“You don’t get to say that now”, you spat, stepping between the couple. Dalma pressed herself against the bars of her prison, defiant.

“Beto”. Jones didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t have to. You felt the command in it and, obedient, you took a step back. Your fingers were closed around the pommel of your sword, gripping it so hard they almost went white.

But you gave them space. You allowed them to look at each other for the first time in centuries.

Davy Jones saw a husk of the goddess he’d known and adored. A tired shell, not broken but cracked, dried up, full of rancour and hate. But also still holding on to the tiniest sliver of hope.

Tia Dalma saw a cursed creature, a shadow of the proud sailor her lover had once been, now corrupted by magic and heartbreak, merciless and cruel. But also a man who hadn’t let go of his heart and who’d unwittingly held onto his humanity.

And they both saw their medallions in the hands of the other. Their bond, even after all this time.

Cautiously, as if she feared breaking the spell, Dalma opened her locket and the melody started to play.

You’d come here to kill her, and instead…

“You were not there. Why?”

Jones’ voice cut through the music, making Dalma’s hand tremble imperceptibly.

“Ten years I devoted to the duty you charged to me. Ten years! And when we finally could be together… you weren’t there”.

“It’s my nature”, she gave as only answer. “Would you love me if I was anything but what I am?”

“I do not love you”.

You felt the blow from his words ripple through the room. Dalma looked taken aback, more than you’d ever seen her. And suddenly you saw yourself on Isla de Muerta, so long ago, receiving the same verbal blow from the man you loved. Suddenly you understood her pain, her fear, and even if you could never forgive her, you could sympathise with her.

Dammit.

“Then you won’t mind if I kill her”, you said, and in two strides you crossed the room to the jail and the unsuspecting witch and thrust your blade towards her neck.

“ _NO!!_ ”, bellowed Jones. Dalma closed her eyes one last time.

But the blow never came.

When the sorceress dared to open her eyes again, she found your sword hovering next to her, almost kissing her skin, and your face inches from hers.

“Beto!”, your father yelled, advancing furiously towards you, but you stopped him with a movement of your hand.

“I thought as much”, you sighed, and sheathed back your sword. “I don’t think I can kill you, Dalma. I really, _really_ want to, but I can’t”.

“Kill me?”

“Kill her?”

Dalma and Jones both looked as baffled as they looked betrayed, but you didn’t mind. You were a pirate. Double-crossing people was in your nature, just as deceiving men might be in Calypso’s. And you’d finally made up your mind about what you were going to do.

Jones’ medallion lay discarded on the floor, having toppled from the tentacle of its owner when he pounced after you, and you picked it up lazily and opened it. You’d always found its melody rather unnerving, but now you could see just how well it suited them both.

“You see, dad, when you sent the kraken after the _Pearl_ and I thought you had killed Hector… I lost it. I just lost it. I hated you like I’ve never hated anyone. And then I had to run from the _Dutchman_. In one day I lost the two people that meant the most to me and the feeling of utter defeat and heartbreak that I had to endure… And now I’m supposed to do the same to you. Well, I refuse. That’s not who I am”.

“What on earth…”

“Who wants me dead?”, asked Dalma, looking you in the eye, although something told you she already knew the answer to that question.

“Is it any surprise that the Lady of Tlalocan wants you out of her territory, Calypso?”

“Did you bargain my life away for her power, Meridith? I never judged you to be so stupid. I told you not to trust them and you’ve thrown yourself right into their arms”.

Her voice spewed poison, but you were undaunted.

“You’ve always disliked me as much as I’ve disliked you, and it’s not like you’d have offered to help from the goodness of your heart. You’re as much an opportunistic bitch as Chalchiuhtlicue, Calypso. I knew that whichever one of you I chose I’d end up in a pinch. So I’ve decided to choose a third path”.

“And what path is that”.

“The path in which you both end up serving _my_ goals”.

“Meridith, what on earth is all of this about?” Davy Jones seemed completely at a loss, because although he was slowly pieced everything together, he had no idea of Chalchiuhtlicue’s grudge against Calypso. He didn’t know the world was on the brink of a war between two sea goddesses and you were the thread that held everything together. Probably the worst thread anybody could’ve ever chosen for such a titanic task, but hey, if life gives you lemons…

“I’ll never serve _you_ ”, growled Dalma, still within her cage.

“Then you’ll get my sword between your ribs”.

“I’ll be free. The Brethren Court will free me”.

“They will _not_. That’s what was agreed in the First Court!”, retorted Jones.

“They won’t because I’ll be quicker to slice your throat than them to unbind you, trust me. You’re currently much less of a threat than Chalchiuhtlicue so don’t force my hand. I’m actually trying to help you here, so would you please _shut up and listen?_ ”

Mercifully, both Dalma and Jones stopped bickering and stepping over each other’s words and finally listened. You praised the gods for the blessed silence and cleared your throat.

“Chalchiuhtlicue wants you dead in exchange for the _Flying Dutchman_ ’s freedom, but if I killed you, I’d never forgive myself. But that doesn’t mean I want you here. You’ve caused enough damage as it is. So I offer you this: a blood oath that when you’re free you’ll leave the Caribbean. You’ll return to Ogygia, which you should never have left in the first place, and I’ll have fulfilled, after a fashion, Chalchiuhtlicue’s conditions. We’ll get our well-deserved freedom and her powers, and the British will never again even dare think to cross us”.

“Chalchiuhtlicue is no fool, girl. She’ll now she’s being deceived”. Dalma wasn’t pleased, but you saw a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before. A new wind blew outside. A wind that meant change.

“Would you rather I slew you here and now? Or are you reckless enough to brave the Lady of Tlalocan in her own turf? Think of Ogygia, Calypso. Think of home”.

For a split second, when that last word left your mouth, Dalma’s eyes met Jones’ and everything went silent. Home. For a split second, she considered where her real home lay, and, for the first time since you’d known your father, he pleaded with his eyes.

Then Dalma sliced her palm open with a loose screw of her gaol and offered you a bloody hand.

“We have a deal”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting heateeeeed >:D  
> Thanks for reading and comment if you're enjoying it! See you guys on Tuesday!


	50. It's madness! It's politics

By the time the mark of the blood oath had been etched on the palm of your hand, your father was nowhere to be found. He’d disappeared into the shadows of the brig as silently as he’d come, taking with him his medallion and his wounded pride.

It frustrated you to no end, but what else could you do? It was the best option, everybody lived and had a chance at happiness! The Caribbean would be well rid of Calypso and her beloved Greek island would surely welcome her with open arms. But at the same time you understood Davy Jones’ sorrow. Would this mean that this time the parting would be definitive? The knowledge that she’d be in her bayou, near him but unattainable, had been one thing, but to release her into the ether across the world… that was quite another. You tried to imagine what you would feel if Barbossa were to be shipped to the other side of the ocean and your heart cracked. But one could always return from the Mediterranean.

One did not return from death.

You sighed as you walked to the main deck of the _Pearl_ and looked at the twinkling lights of Shipwreck City. Funny how the city was a perfect metaphor for pirates: it looked as it could stand well on its own, weather any storm and stand any siege that came its way, but if you tore away even the smallest part of its foundations, it all came down tumbling. If they only realised how much stronger they’d be all together…

Gunshots sounded in the uppermost buildings of the massive ship-city, where the lights shone the brightest. Shouts and gunpowder and feet stomped around, and you thought that they were almost making the whole building shake dangerously from side to side. Or maybe you were just tired. Could be both. You made your way up to the pirates’ quarters reserved for those summoned by the Brethren. They were empty for the most part, with only a handful of stragglers who hadn’t been deemed worthy of accompanying Jack and Barbossa into the actual meeting. You wondered whether the cabins had already been claimed by the men as you looked for the one with the biggest bed and let yourself fall onto it with abandon. It had been an eternity since you’d last slept on something even slightly resembling an actual bed, and this was absolute bliss. Way more comfortable than you’d expected any room at Shipwreck City to be, you let your thoughts wander for a bit and fell into a fitful sleep, images of Calypso and Chalchiuhtlicue and the pained face of your father flashing through your mind.

A thunderous amalgam of voices and footsteps woke you not long after that as the summit was concluded and the pirates left the hall while taking advantage of those last moments of brotherhood to call each other varied pleasantries mostly concerning their mothers’ trade. You sat up on the bed and waited for your own party to approach.

“Beto!”, exclaimed Elizabeth as she swung the door open. “Where have you been? You’ve missed the whole summit!”

“Perfect, just in time then”.

In they all came, the horde of pirates that was the crew of the Pearl: Elizabeth, Jack, Gibbs, Pintel, Ragetti, Cotton (Cotton’s parrot) and Marty, with two very glaring omissions. You narrowed your eyes.

“Where’s Hector?”

“He stayed behind”, replied Jack, pointing backwards with his thumb. “There was a dog. Maybe he wanted to pet it”.

“Beckett has Will”, interrupted Elizabeth, glaring at Jack with death in her eyes. “We’re going to negotiate with him”.

You snorted.

“Yeah, sure, I’m sure after sending the kraken after him and slaughtering two of his crews, if not also himself, he’ll be very excited to negotiate with us. Excuse me, exactly why is Will with the British?”

“He… decided that his loyalties lied elsewhere”.

“We all know you kicked him off the ship, Jack”, Elizabeth turned on him. “Don’t act like you didn’t. We’re going to get him back from Beckett”.

You considered the situation. Of course Young Turner’s betrayal wasn’t going to sit well with the crew, but you hadn’t expected that the one who give him the boot would be Jack of all people. You couldn’t totally blame him, but he could give the British a lot of sensitive information that you didn’t want in their hands.

“And have you managed to convince them to negotiate for our treacherous friend, release Calypso and fight the East India Trading Company? Impressive”.

“I don’t have to convince them anymore to get to obey me. They don’t have a choice”, said Elizabeth with a voice full of pride and confidence. She smiled and for the first time you saw in her a mischievous wickedness you hadn’t known in her yet. If you’d had a pulse it would’ve quickened at the excitement of what was to come.

“Oh?”

“They voted her pirate king!”, blurted out Gibbs with dismay.

“Actually I did”, pointed out Jack.

“Captain Swann, Pirate King. Some fine politics you’ve been doing up there”. You whistled in admiration and gave Elizabeth a slight bow. “Should I call you Your Majesty now?”

“Stop it”.

“Then you’re right, we have no choice but to get William back. I hope you won’t mind if I ask to be part of the embassy. I have… unfinished business with them”.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow”, nodded Elizabeth. “It has been a long day for all of us”.

A moment of silence ensued until you realised she was staring at the bed you were lying on.

“Oh. You want it?”

“I’m the king”.

“I thought our friendship was above titles, Elizabeth”, you pouted.

“Get off the bed, Beto”.

Grinning, you acquiesced and left the room, not before sending Pintel and Ragetti to look over Dalma in the _Pearl_ ’s brig. “Better to have her under control and not alone”, you added, and they hastened on their way down to the ship. Tai Huang and several men of Sao Feng’s former crew stood guard around the room in which Elizabeth would sleep and you waved to them as you passed, but before you could advance towards the summit hall, somebody gripped your wrist.

“I hoped we could have a word”. Jack Sparrow’s golden teeth gleamed in the light of the torches and your eyes immediately went to the hand that held you in place. Jack let you go as if you burned.

“That’s a first”.

You followed Jack into one of the bends of the corridor, away from prying eyes, and leaned against the wall with your arms crossed while he gave you a roguish grin. It was the first time since your conversation in the brig of the _Pearl_ , when you revealed yourself to be Jones’ daughter, that you and him met eye to eye. And it didn’t seem like things were going to go much better.

“So”, he began, cautiously. “About the heart”.

“I can’t believe you even _dare_ bring that up”.

“I don’t suppose you want to father to have it locked away eternally, do you? Wasn’t that what you agreed with Calypso? An end to the curse?”

“What of it?” You couldn’t fathom where he was trying to take the conversation.

“I just think that, well… Wouldn’t it be a shame to have such a magnificent vessel with such extraordinary capacities become… ordinary?”

You frowned, rather offended. The _Dutchman_ , ordinary? Not even if it rotted for a hundred years could it be called ordinary. The audacity.

“Where are you going with this, Sparrow?”

“Let me take over from him. Let _me_ be the next captain of the _Dutchman_ , while you and your father enjoy your freedom somewhere else, huh?”

The offer was so unexpected and so outrageously absurd that you could only laugh out loud, throwing your head back so hard you almost hit it against the wall.

“For fuck’s sake, Sparrow, I almost thought you had something serious to ask me”.

“I’m being very serious”.

“What, do you really want to be a cursed being that roams the seas for eternity carrying the souls of the dead? That sound appealing to you?”

“Ah, but you see, you’re only seeing the negative parts of it. A deathless eternity ploughing through the water at the command of my own ship… Captain Jack Sparrow, forever…”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Jack. You really don’t. And the answer is no. That’s not how things work. You can’t ‘replace’ the captain of the _Dutchman_ like that. There must always be a captain, alright? _Always_. The only way for the captain to change would involve killing the current one. And if you even entertain the notion I swear to any gods that want to listen that I shall chase you to Hell and back to make you regret it. The only possible captain of the _Dutchman_ is my father. I shall not discuss this further”.

You left, without looking back, while Jack Sparrow pondered your words with a sly smile.

“Interesting…”

The halls were full of men of every race and nationality chattering about, sporting for a fight and generally enjoying the once-in-a-lifetime meeting that had brought them all together. To those who didn’t know you, or didn’t know to look for you, you were almost invisible as you glided towards the summit hall. You carefully avoided Sri Sumbhajee’s quarters and almost bumped into Ammand the Corsair, who thankfully didn’t know your face despite you having stolen one or two of his ships in the past.

The entrance to the main hall was guarded by two towering Chinese pirates dressed more luxuriously than those who had been Sao Feng’s men. Their uniforms, although worn down by use and life at sea, looked as if their owners took good care of them and were embellished with belts, emblems and the occasional precious gem that they had stolen from their latest victim.

“I’m looking for Captain Barbossa”, you asked with your best smile in perfect Cantonese, relishing the men’s looks of surprise.

“Mistress Ching does not wish to be disturbed”.

“Do not fret; I shan’t disturb her at all. Now, if you two fine gentlemen will excuse me…”

But they did not, in fact, excuse you. They did not budge an inch from the door and you were beginning to wonder whether you were going to have to draw blood after all when a voice sounded from the inside.

“Let her in”.

Mistress Ching had passed 70 some time ago, but one would never be able to tell it from her demeanour and the authority with which she held herself. You admired her – from afar; you’d never been crazy enough to cross her directly or to put yourself in the spotlight with her. She was a different kind of pirate than you or, say, Sao Feng. She was ruthless and manipulative, but she was also cunning and elegant. Especially elegant, a characteristic which many of the Pirate Lords now gathered lacked. She had built a name for herself in a world created by and for men, and she lorded over the waters of the Pacific Ocean with a bloody iron fist.

You also quite liked her makeup.

“You must be Meridith Jones”, she said, this time in English, while her blind eyes scanned the area of the room where you now stood.

It was big and boisterous, just like the Brethren, and full to the brim with junk from the hundreds of pirates that had passed through it before you had. The hall, along with Shipwreck Cove, was living history – and now you were a part of it.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mistress Ching”, you replied in Cantonese, circling the massive oaken table that lay in the centre of the room as you approached the spot where the Pirate Lord was still sitting. Plates strewn and broken all over the table, cracked bits of wood and the smell of gunpowder in the air made you imagine how the summit and Elizabeth’s coronation had gone.

“You sound exactly like I would expect from a daughter of Davy Jones. You know, I met your father years ago”.

“Yes, he has mentioned you before. He respects you, which is more than many people can say”.

“What does he say to King Swann’s decision of freeing Calypso?”

“Why do you care?”

“The First Brethren Court bound her after allying with Davy Jones, and we have honoured that alliance for centuries. I’d hate to think we’re disgracing ourselves now”.

“Fear not, Mistress Ching. All is as it should be”, you smiled, and even though her eyes could not see you, her lips too curled up in satisfaction.

“Thank you for easing my mind, Miss Jones. I shall see you tomorrow in the battlefield”.

“May the odds be with us”, you saluted her, and watched her leave.

For such a small woman, she filled up the room in an incredible way and now that you were alone you felt the hall had become twice as big. You wondered where the hell could Barbossa be hiding when a bark from a semi-hidden chamber at the back of the room caught your attention.

Accessed by a small flight of stairs, it was a relatively ample room, with another desk, several chests and what looked like the lovechild of a divan and a bed – although, of course, dwarfed by the enormity of the meeting hall, any room would seem small.

Barbossa was standing in the middle of it, engrossed in a book that was easily as big as you, while a terrier that held a bundle of keys in his mouth barked at his leg as he tried to push him away.

“Shut up, you mongrel!”, he hissed as the dog barked again and turned your head to you. You opened your mouth to greet him but your jaw almost fell to the ground when you realised what the book was.

The Pirate’s Code. The original manuscript, as set down and bound centuries ago by the Pirate Lords Morgan and Bartholomew. The parchment was old and worn, yellowed by years of exposure to the sun and the humidity of the sea, but it was an object of beauty. You’d only seen it once, that one time you’d broken into Shipwreck Cove as a young First Mate, and only from afar, but you knew its commandments by heart. Your father had made sure of it. Pity that lately those thousands of pages of pirate law had been distilled into their simplest form: “parley”.

“I never knew Captain Teague let other people touch the Code”.

Barbossa jolted slightly when he became aware of your presence but after shooting you a glance over his shoulder he returned to the book.

“You’re back”, he said, curtly.

“Are you interested now in pirate law?”

“Just getting reacquainted with the powers of the Pirate King, now that we be having a new one”.

“I take it you didn’t vote for her”.

“Jack gave her the winning vote. Crazy bastard”.

“Unexpected, to say the least. Yet that’s how Jack is”.

Silence greeted your words. The dog’s ragged breathing as you crouched down to pet him only made the strained atmosphere between you two even more uncomfortable. Barbossa didn’t move, didn’t even attempt to touch you.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You tell me, Beto”, he exploded, slamming his fists against the Code. Captain Teague wouldn’t be too pleased about that. “You pull off this grand move against the British, then tell me to trust you and you disappear, only to return at the helm of the _Dutchman_ and then scuttle off somewhere else without even bothering to tell me you’re safe and you have the bloody guts to ask _what is going on with me?_ ”

_Oh._

_Oh, shit_.

He was _livid_. As in properly angry. And for once you found yourself at a loss for words. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that he might be offended if he wasn’t at the top of your priority list, considering everything that was going on, but then again it sounded more like…

“Hector”, you approached him, tamely. His name on your lips seemed to soothe him somehow. “Were you worried about me?”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the page on which the Code was open, but he was clearly not reading. He clenched his fists, very slightly, as if trying to control himself.

“Can you blame me?”, he whispered, refusing to look at you. You stood at his back, uncertain whether to put your hand on his shoulder. “I’ve seen you punched, stabbed, nearly blown to smithereens and almost drowned more times than I can count, and now half the Caribbean is out to enslave you, and you just go running away telling me less than half your plans, and I’m just supposed to _wait_? To _be calm_? To Hell with it! To Hell with all of it!”

“Hector, I… I’m sorry, I had no idea you felt like that…” You fidgeted. Now it was you that avoided his gaze. His tone had gone in crescendo and he was now facing you, breathing heavily. The dog, judiciously, remained silent and watched.

“I’ve gone about all my life without giving explanations to anybody, except perhaps my father”, you continued, “and nobody ever… nobody ever _really_ worried that I may hurt myself. They just assumed that I’d be fine, because I’m… well, unkillable! But they didn’t worry, not like that…”

“Well, I do. If you ask me to trust you, Beto, I need you to trust me too. I need to know what you’re thinking, what you’re planning. I need to know that you’re going to be okay. You can’t keep leaving me out”.

He closed the distance between the two of you slowly, with every sentence, with every word, until you could feel his breath against your hair, against your skin, and you used up every ounce of courage you had to look up into his eyes. You saw worry, and exasperation, and a tiny bit of disappointment, but you also saw love, fierce and unpredictable, just like him.

His hands rested on your hips and you held in a breath.

“I won’t. I promise. I trust you, Hector. With all my heart. Which isn’t much, but it’s all I can offer”.

Barbossa took your chin between his index and his thumb and slightly tilted your head upwards until your lips were inches from his. His chest pressed against yours and you felt his heartbeat, thumping so hard your whole body felt its reverberation.

“And I accept it. All of it”.

It was too much.

You kissed him, taking his lips, almost biting into them, and he replied in kind, wrapping his right hand around your waist to bring you as close as he could to him, his left cupping your cheek and losing itself in your hair.

It only struck you then how much you’d missed him, how much you’d longed to feel his mouth on yours, his breath caressing your skin, his hands travelling all over your body. Not only to be with him like this, sensing his erection harden against your crotch and the excitement in your core that came along with it, but just to _be_ with him; to bicker, to banter, to grin fiendishly at him and see his own grin in return.

Fuck, you really loved the man.

You ground yourself against him and Barbossa stiffened, deepening the kiss, and you stumbled against the table of the Code. One of the book’s massive corners dug into your back and you groaned. Barbossa looked up, trying to discern the cause of the noise, and saw you almost sitting on top of the _Pirata Codex_.

“Don’t let Captain Teague see you do that”, he laughed, and you smirked in what you hoped was a seductive expression.

“Do what, exactly?” You used both hands to prop yourself up and onto the book, slightly crumpling its open pages, and placed yourself exactly on top of the carefully manuscript word ‘parley’, leaning to the side like a meal ready to be enjoyed. “This, you mean?”

“Meridith…”

“Or this?”

You moved your hips to the side, lazily leaning your hand on top of them so that Barbossa could admire your silhouette at its best. In the weak and dancing light of the torches that illuminated the room, the pirate took a step towards you, licking his lips as his eyes trailed your neck, the curve of your collarbone and beyond. With your free hand, you slowly began undoing the buttons of your vest and the laces of your shirt until you opened it completely, leaving your cleavage and the shadow of your breasts completely visible.

Barbossa didn’t say a word. Instead, he brought his hands to your neck, tracing every inch of your skin, every curve of your chest with his fingers, unhurriedly bringing them lower and lower, until they rested just under your breasts. Your breath hitched as his callused fingertips mapped the entirety of your skin, and you licked your lips in anticipation. As if savouring the moment, Barbossa cupped your breasts with his hands, feeling them, indulging in their softness, and when his thumb brushed your nipple, taut as a violin string, you let out a gentle moan.

Barbossa chuckled and leaned in to kiss you on the neck as he divested you of the last bits of your shirt, leaving you half naked and more eager for him than you’d known. He then took you in, all of you, and desire burnt in his eyes.

“I never thought I’d fuck someone on top of the Pirate Code. Sounds like a story somebody would tell in Tortuga”.

“Consider it an apology gift”.

“I should get angry with you more often if all your apologies are going to be like this”, he snickered, but to your surprise he didn’t jump on you to devour you.

Instead, he took a step back.

“Why do you keep killing the mood during sex, Hector? Is it a kink of yours?”, you protested, but he raised a finger to shut you up.

“What, did you take a first good look at me and thought ‘oh yes, he looks totally pure and not twisted in any kind of perverted way’? Now hush and let me do”.

With deft fingers that you were imagining, and rather hoping, would soon be somewhere else, Barbossa undid the yellow sash that he always wore tied around his waist and with one swift movement pulled it over your eyes.

You gasped, your vision suddenly obscured, but Barbossa put a finger to your lips and silenced you.

“Consider it part of your apology gift”, he purred in your ear, and your whole body shuddered.

It was a strange sensation, but pleasantly new too. With your sight gone, every other sense heightened. You heard the creak of the wood beneath Barbossa’s boots, the slush of the sea against the hull of the ships that made up Shipwreck City, the merriment and celebration in the floors below. But you also heard Barbossa’s ragged breathing, the ruffle of clothes being undone, and then his fingers over your abdomen, gently scratching your skin.

You stiffened, skin taut with excitement, and when suddenly you felt his tongue trail your navel and travel upwards until it reached your breasts, you couldn’t stifle the moan that left your lips. Oh, gods, you _liked_ it. Not knowing what he was going to do, where he’d go next – the anticipation, the feeling of being at his mercy, it was more arousing that you’d ever thought it could be.

Barbossa’s tongue locked into your nipple, rock-hard at this point, as one of his hands roamed through your body, tracing the curves of your hips and feeling you further down. You felt a pressure building at your core, making you involuntarily buckle your hips to grind yourself against Barbossa, and when he playfully bit your nipple you moaned again and clutched at his hair, pushing him against you. Gods, you _needed_ him so much.

“Hector…”

Your voice was husky, thick with lust, and your blindness made you shudder and lurch every time he touched a different part of your body, as if he were electricity coursing through your veins.

His lips left your breast and moved up to your mouth, taking it in his hungrily, and you kissed with such fire and longing that you thought your chest would burst.

And then his hand found the rim of your breeches and slid inside and you lost your mind.

He found you wet and so, so eager, and as he slid one finger between your folds, tenderly caressing your slit while looking for that sweet, sweet spot that would make you see stars, his mouth returned to your breasts, sucking and biting as you trembled with each touch above and below.

His fingers were deft and nimble and knew all the right points to hit with you, so when he finally slipped two of his fingers inside while he rubbed your clit with his thumb you threw your head back and panted. Your fingers clenched around the page of the Code you were sitting on, nearly tearing it apart, but Barbossa didn’t slow down. No, he continued drawing shapes and circles inside you, stroking and prodding your nub, as you squirmed and moaned while he kissed you, all of you, leaving not one inch of skin without the touch of his lips.

You felt release building up at the base of your spine, as your insides clenched around Barbossa’s fingers, and when he finally snooped low enough to plant a kiss in your slit, sucking at your clit, with that mouth you knew had just been on yours, you came with a loud groan and his name on your lips.

Your body trembled and you panted until you managed to catch a breath and let yourself fall limply on top of the Code, which had managed to stay in one piece despite your best attempts at ripping it apart. You still couldn’t see but you heard Barbossa chuckle as he leaned gently on you.

“Not bad I’d say, huh?”

You smiled lazily and your hands search for his face to trace the outline of his lips, but you weren’t done with him.

“Is that all the punishment you have for me, Captain Barbossa? I expected a bit more from such a notorious Pirate Lord”.

“Did you now?”

You could imagine him perfectly licking his lips and your core pounded again.

“And what kind of punishment would you ask for, Miss Jones?”

His fingers lingered on your body, caressing it here and there, and your skin prickled with the excitement of not knowing where he would touch next.

“Or maybe we should just leave it here”. He stepped back. “Perhaps that would be a fitting punishment”.

“Go fuck yourself, Hector”.

“I’d much rather you did that”.

“Don’t mind me if I do”, you smiled, and you ripped the blindfold off your eyes as you got up and wrapped your legs around Barbossa.

He was definitely not expecting it when you pushed him down onto the Code and, before he could react, you tied up his hands with his own sash. You straddled him as he contemplated whether to complain or to just let you go on and see where this was taking you, and as you kept his hands in place above his head, you lowered your mouth down to unbutton his vest and shirt with your teeth, all the while keeping eye contact with him. When you finally managed to kiss his skin, you felt it hot and sweaty, his heart beating faster than the thumping of a drum, and you shuddered with relish.

You didn’t need to grope his nether regions to know how excited he was; your crotch, still wet from his touch before, pressed against his growing erection, now bulging against his pants, and he couldn’t stifle a groan as you pressed down on him.

“This may be the sexiest I’ve ever seen you”, you muttered at the half-naked man you now had at your mercy. Barbossa looked at you, his eyes very suspiciously lingering on your breasts, and laughed.

“You have terrible taste”.

“Maybe so”, you smirked back, and leaned down to kiss his chest. He tried to wiggle his hands free, but your grip and the knot you’d made with the sash was too strong for him to break out of it. “Don’t fight it, Hector. You know you want me”.

“Oh, Meridith”, he whispered. “You have no idea”.

You fumbled to find the buckle of his belt as you left a trail of kisses down his chest, gently nibbling at his nipples, which drew out of him a stifled moan and a pant that would’ve made your heart race had you been properly alive. You felt desire build in you, taking over like a tidal wave, and it didn’t take you long to undo his belt and release him from his breeches, as you threw yours aside and sat astride him as naked as the day you were born.

You licked your lips as you looked down on Barbossa, who was eating you up with his eyes, and positioned yourself so that his cock, rock-hard and drumming with pent-up arousal, was enfolded by your slit, and feeling him against you made you shudder with pleasure.

Slowly, you began moving up and down, grinding your wet cunt against Barbossa’s cock, the slickness of both your parts making it so much easier, so much more pleasurable, and as you leaned down to kiss him without stopping the movement of your hips, his shaft rubbed against your clit and you were almost brought to the edge. You panted into Barbossa’s mouth, who couldn’t get enough of you, and he started buckling his hips to ensure you continued moving. It was a struggle for him not to be able to grab you, to seize you and to take you himself, but his moans and grunts showed he wasn’t having a particularly hard time either. You saw in his face that he was getting closer, and so were you, and _oh gods it was so good_.

You’d never felt more powerful and more beautiful and more desired than right now, with Barbossa under you as you both climaxed together, panting each other’s name with abandon, and you threw yourself on top of your lover, not caring about the fluid that now coated his abdomen and chest. You were both glistening with sweat but there was something about the way in which your bodies just _fit_ together as you lay on top of him that made you want to cry with happiness.

“Untie me”, he whispered after a while, so softly that you thought you might’ve imagined it. “I want to touch you”.

There was nothing more to be said. As soon as the sash was gone, his hands were all over you, his lips coursing through your skin, worshipping you, and when he entered you and started moving his hips rhythmically, you felt as if you finally were exactly where you belonged. You were joined, with him inside you being the most intimate and beautiful sensation you’d ever experienced, and you kissed him and made love to him until you came again and you had nothing more to give.

You were both spent, but well so, and you relished the warmth of Barbossa’s arms around you. It must have been the early hours of the morning, for the merriment of the party downstairs had almost faded, and drunk men were returning to their bunks and ships, drawling their feet across the floor and tripping over empty bottles. The day that now began didn’t bode well, and you knew what was waiting for you. Beckett. Calypso. Chalchiuhtlicue.

But right now nothing mattered, nothing except you and the man that you loved. As long as you had each other, everything would be alright.

Of course, Captain Teague didn’t think the same when he walked into his cabin to find two naked pirates laying down on top of his precious Code after some clearly non-academic exertions.

The speed with which he drew his flintlock and shot mere inches away from your heads, making both you and Barbossa jump and run as you never had in your lives, was something you may have admired in another occasion when you weren’t butt naked and sprinting through the halls of Shipwreck City.

“If I catch you again you’re dead meat!!”, you heard him yelling from the distance as you put the whole of Shipwreck between you and the Keeper of the Code. When Jack and Elizabeth saw you two enter the Pearl’s quarters in such a dignified manner, Barbossa sternly advised them against making a single comment.

“Don’t ask questions whose answers you don’t want to know”, you added, and disappeared into whatever room Barbossa had gone into. You collapsed into the makeshift bed that it contained and wished you’d had more time to recover your clothes from Teague’s cabin.

“Life is never boring with you, is it?”, Barbossa said, giving you a half smile.

“I pride myself on never having lived a single minute of boredom, my dear. I hope your heart can keep up”.

Barbossa leaned down and kissed you one last time on the lips.

“With you, always”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this bit of smut because now you're in for an ANGSTY RIDE! >:D  
> Only five chapters to go! Thanks so much for reading!


	51. The calm before the storm

“I don’t know if your boyfriend is the bravest or the stupidest person I’ve ever known. Perhaps both… Hmm… No, he’s definitely more stupid than brave”.

“…”

“I mean, no offense, but he’s managed to piss off every single party in this war, even the supernatural ones – _especially_ the supernatural wars, as well as betrayed… well, everyone, I think! And still he managed to get out on top! Man, I wish I had that kind of luck. But I guess being betrothed to the Pirate King don’t hurt, huh?”

“Queen”.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Pirate _Queen_ ”. Elizabeth looked at you from the corner of her eye as the Empress approached the strip of land on which you’d agreed with Beckett that the exchange would take place. “What? Why must it be necessarily ‘king’? I’m proud of being who I am and of my strength, I don’t see why I should hide behind a male title. A queen can be as powerful as any king”.

“She can indeed”, you smiled, thinking of Calypso or Chalchiuhtlicue. But you didn’t have to go to the realm of the gods to find someone that proved that assertion right. Elizabeth, still in her Chinese regalia, distilled confidence and looked every bit the part of Pirate Queen. Now you could only hope that Beckett thought the same.

The plan was very simple, yet you were sure you’d find a way to fuck it up somehow. Given that his informer Mercer was dead, you could only hope that Beckett hadn’t heard of the Dutchman’s defection and therefore it would be easy enough to negotiate exchanging you for Will under the pretence of seeing your father again and looking for the heart. And when you were alone with Beckett… This time you were gonna take your sweet long time to kill the bastard. No loose ends. Not this time.

Then again, he may have learnt about Mercer’s death and the retaking of the heart. In that case, you’d just have to kill him then and there and forego your revenge. And hope that Will didn’t get slaughtered in the process, but that wasn’t your concern. Any way this all went, it was going to end in blood one way or another.

“Are you sure about this?”, asked Elizabeth. It had been decided that you and her would go on your own, as a show of good faith towards Beckett, while he would be alone with Will. Of course, you’d both have a whole navy behind you ready to bomb the shit out of anyone who so much as stepped wrong, so it was a small measure of comfort.

“It’s the only way to get Will back, isn’t it? I’d end up sneaking into Beckett’s ship to slice his throat sooner or later anyway, so I may as well take this chance to get invited aboard”.

“You’re not going to be their guest. You know that, right?”

“Elizabeth, trust me: if anybody must be afraid now, it’s certainly not _me_ ”.

Rather surprisingly, Beckett stayed true to his word and as you disembarked with Elizabeth in the thin stretch of land that divided the free pirate waters of Shipwreck Cove from the domain of the East India Trading Company, you saw both the little man in his full British regalia and William Turner, who didn’t look much worse for wear, considering how much he’d gone through since you last saw him aboard the _Pearl_. He wasn’t even handcuffed, which offended you a little bit.

Behind you, looming in the horizon, the _Pearl_ awaited anxiously the result of your negotiations. Barbossa had given you hell for your decision to be a bait for Beckett and infiltrating his ship, and even now you could imagine him spying you with his telescope, puffing in annoyance.

Your parting that morning hadn’t been entirely pleasant. You’d told him your plan step by step – you hadn’t even gone into that much detail with Jones himself, but you wanted to put Barbossa at ease, let him know exactly what you intended to do. Instead, with every word of yours, his eyebrows only rose higher and higher.

“So what if something goes wrong?”

“Wow, Hector, I’m moved by how much trust you have in me”.

“I trust you, which doesn’t mean I’m blind. You’re taking an enormous risk. What if it doesn’t pay off? I won’t stand seeing you become Beckett’s slave”.

“Like that’s going to happen. Worst case scenario, I’ll get a bullet in my head, I’ll complain for a few days, and then I’ll be like new. The heart is safe, which means the _Dutchman_ is out of Beckett’s reach. Relax!”

“I’m not so worried about Beckett as about the two goddesses you’re trying to play”.

That cast a slight pail over your mood. Indeed, today was the day where everything had to work just right, or you’d be _very_ fucked. But there was only so much you could control.

“Hector, I’ll be fine. I need you to trust me on this. Hey, look at me. Look at me!”

You caught his face in your hands and brought it to yours, inches away from you. You stared right into his eyes and for a few seconds the noise of the pirate fleet reading itself for the fight of its life went away and there was only the two of you.

“I’ll return to you, Hector. I swear on my life that I will return to you. I love you”.

Barbossa held your gaze, his sea-blue eyes piercing the deepest parts of your soul, and finally acquiesced.

“Make sure that you do. I’ll be waiting for you, Meridith”, and he kissed you.

Your lips still tasted salty from that last kiss.

You advanced towards the opposite party, confident in your step. There was no mirth nor joy nor the slightest sign of kindness in either your or Elizabeth’s faces. You were there for business, the Pirate Queen and the First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_.

And you both wanted nothing more than to shoot Lord Cutler Beckett flat in the face.

“Miss Jones”, he saluted with his usual sour smile. “We meet again”.

“Lord Beckett”, you tipped your hat. “I must commend your efforts to keep being a pain in my ass against all odds”.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”.

“It’s the nicest thing you’ll get from me”.

He didn’t seem to be aware that Mercer was dead and the _Dutchman_ free. Or if he did, he hid it very well.

“I’ve come here to offer you an exchange”, said Elizabeth, ending your banter. At Beckett’s side, Will looked confused at Elizabeth’s attire and at your presence there. “You give us William Turner and I’ll give you Meridith Jones”.

“Just like that? It seems too good to be true!”, Beckett replied. “Pray, what would drive Miss Jones, who until now seemed rather reluctant to join us, to accept that exchange?”

Now it was your turn to act.

“It would seem as you’re even harder to kill than myself, Lord Beckett, and I just figured I’d have a better shot up close. Besides”, you said, putting on your best longing face, as if it had slipped through your defences, “I suppose a pirate can’t help missing their ship, can they?”

“Cooperate with me and we’ll speak about your returning to the _Dutchman_ ”, he offered. So he _really_ didn’t know.

“We’ll speak”, you acquiesced with a smile that would freeze any man’s blood in their veins, and began slowly walking towards Beckett. At the same time, Will advanced towards Elizabeth, and when your paths crossed, you shot him a sideways grin that you left up to his interpretation. It gave you degree of comfort to think that, of all people, you were the one who’d sacrificed herself for his freedom. Take that, kiddo.

You stood side by side with Beckett and gave him a coy little smile.

“Look at us. Best of friends already, hm?”

“I certainly hope not”, he replied with distaste.

“You won’t win this war, Beckett”, said Elizabeth. You felt the anger and the hatred rolling in her tongue. “You’ll pay for everything you’ve done”.

“Keep telling yourself that, Miss Swann”. You didn’t fail to notice he refused to address her by her title. Odious little man. “I’m sorry that you chose the wrong side of this war”.

“I know which side I chose, Lord Beckett, and I stand by it. I’d rather be dead than join the side of the man who murdered my father”.

It was beginning to be awkward, just standing there next to Beckett through this intense conversation. Will seemed to be thinking the same.

“So it is war, then?”

“War it is”.

“In that case I suggest you prepare your ragtag army of criminals, Miss Swann. We march at dawn”.

“Enjoy your last night on this earth, Lord Beckett. I’d tell you to give my best to my father when you see him but I rather hope he spits in your mouth”.

You held back the urge to give her a round of applause for that and just waved to the couple as Beckett, with an annoyed grimace, made back for his ship. Will turned his back to you, but Elizabeth didn’t move. She just stared at you and, even from the distance, you could see her mouthing the words ‘be careful’ as her features twisted with worry. She too had her part to play. Both Elizabeth and Barbossa had promised you they’d free Calypso, and the sorceress had promised she’d keep her end of the bargain. Now you could only hope they all delivered on their promises.

You gave Elizabeth a thumbs up, and it was the last thing you managed to do before Beckett’s men slapped thick iron cuffs on your wrists and ankles and dragged you belowdecks to what you imagined was one of the cabins that Beckett used for the less savoury parts of his job. Although you imagined Mercer being the one cheerfully preparing tongs and hot irons here rather than Beckett. He was too prissy.

Pity that Mercer was dead meat.

“To be fair, I’ve been in inns that looked worse than this”, you cheerfully commented as you were tied to the shackles that were attached to the wall of the cabin. It was damp and rather gloomy, but still kept in good shape, as the rest of the ship was. However, you soon spotted some suspicious stains in the floor and imagined that the people who had been brought down there before had probably never made their way back up.

If Beckett intended to draw blood from you, he’d go old waiting.

A troupe of some ten British soldiers armed with flintlocks, arquebuses, bayonets and even one with a miniature cannon that made you go “aww” spilled into the room at a fast pace and assembled in front of you, pointing the barrel of their weapons directly at your face.

“Are you still inclined to be funny, Miss Jones?”, asked Beckett, standing behind the men but strategically so he could still clearly see your face. You grinned in defiance.

“I can’t help being funny any more than I can being beautiful, Lord Beckett. It’s a burden I must learn to live with”.

“I wonder if you’ll be this clever when we drag you before your father and crew”, he taunted you. “What will Davy Jones rather see destroyed, his heart or his daughter? Such weak spots for a creature such as him”.

“Sit comfortably in your ivory throne while you can, Lord Beckett”, you replied as venomously as you could. “It won’t last, mark my words”.

“Tell me everything about the pirate fleet. How many men, how many ships, how they’re going to attack. I want to know everything”.

The chains rattled as you shuffled in them. The soldiers tensed, their guns cocking in preparation to shoot.

“Or what?”

“Or your father pays the consequences of your insubordination, woman”.

“I see. Tell me, how is Mr. Mercer doing lately?”

Beckett stiffened and his calm demeanor vanished at once. You grinned wickedly at him as you saw him imagining the meaning behind your words. You could see him all too well summoning the _Dutchman_ with no response and sending messages to Mercer that he’d never receive.

“What have you done”, he whispered, and you could almost pinpoint the exact moment where he discovered that he’d lost the upper hand in the war.

“You took my family from me, Lord Beckett. I once promised you death, and I like to keep my word”.

The wit and chirpiness that your tone had had until then vanished. It was now steel and ice, and the room darkened around you. The men looked around and trembled. Was it a trick of the light? Was it their imagination or were there watery shadows flickering around the walls?

Outside it began to rain, slowly at first, barely a trickle, but the sun was quickly obscured by the darkest clouds the Caribbean had ever seen. Even amongst the pirate ranks, men shivered. It was a bad omen, a very bad one.

And then the storm broke.

Thunder raked the sea and the ship swayed, sending the men flying in every direction. Beckett fell to the floor and was almost crushed by his soldiers, and you took advantage of the chaos to summon every last bit of strength you had to rip apart the chains and slam them against the few soldiers that tried to get up to stop you.

Metal banged against flesh and the momentum dragged you forward too, to your knees, and before you knew it Beckett was pointing a gun at your head.

“I wish you hadn’t forced me to do this”.

“You’ve already lost, Beckett”.

And then the men began screaming.

You’d heard more than enough yelling at sea fights during your lifetime to know that this was different.

They screamed in pure, undiluted _fear_.

When the first soldier in the cabin went down with his throat ripped by an ahuizotl you realised that something had gone terribly wrong.

“What on earth!?”, yelled Beckett, but you didn’t have time for him anymore.

You pushed him back and avoided the slimy creatures that poured into the cabin, slashing and kicking your way through to get to the deck. Behind you, Beckett screamed and the sound of flesh being torn apart rattled in your ears.

It was the end of the world out there. A sky as black as you’d ever seen it, with clouds that promised nothing but devastation, and beyond it, diving the pirate and the British fleets, a massive whirlpool. As if Charybdis herself had come to take you to your watery graves, a chasm like a giant mouth opened in the middle of the sea.

A staggering pain rippled through your hand, and the wound of the blood oath you’d made with the bound goddess ripped open again.

Calypso had been released.

And she’d betrayed you.

 _You lied to me_.

You dropped to the ground, clutching your ears with your hands. It wasn’t a sound, for it didn’t come from any human mouth, but still Chalchiuhtlicue’s voice filled your head, your mind, piercing every bit of you and drowning you in its anger.

_You lied to me. You freed her. You will pay for this, you stupid child._

Around you, ahuizotls the size of a grown man slithered onto the deck, ripping and mauling through everything in their way. The screams of agony increased when the poor souls that arrived on deck to fight the monsters were burned by the falling rain, which ate through their skin and muscle as if it were acid, turning them into bloody messes that were soon devoured by Chalchiuhtlicue’s minions.

 _You will pay_.

It hurt so much. You couldn’t take it. Clenching your teeth, you dragged yourself to the edge of the deck before any of the ahuizolts could sink their teeth into you and threw yourself into the water.

Your body clashed against the waves and cold shudders raked your body. It was no longer a welcome touch, a comfortable space: the Lady of Tlalocan was everywhere, her voice sifting through your mind and promising you hell. You sank, swallowing water in a silent scream as you curled around yourself to make it stop stop stopstopstopstop _stop_

And then your father’s arms around closed around you, bringing your head against his chest, and Chalchiuhtlicue vanished, driven out of your head as the _Dutchman_ emerged from the water and straight into the maelstrom.

Your hair was slick with water and it stuck to your face as you raised your eyes to Davy Jones’ and your worst fears were confirmed.

“I fucked up. Again”.

“Meridith…”

“Calypso is free. And Chalchiuhtlicue is angry”.

You felt like crying your heart out in impotence and anger, but your father’s gaze stopped you. There was something in his eyes, a gleam that you hadn’t seen before, and even the rain that fell on his face seemed different. As if he was finally meeting again an old lover.

A cannon boomed and the _Dutchman_ shook. You whipped your head to see the _Endeavour_ , somehow still in one piece, aiming for your ship and following you into Calypso’s last gift. They were decided to follow Beckett’s orders to their last consequences, then. They had courage, you’d give them that.

At the other side of the pool, the _Pearl_ entered the fray.

Above you, Calypso’s wind shook your sails.

Below you, Tlalocan awaited.

Too many tensions to resolve, too many crossed interests.

This was it.

Davy Jones looked at you and smiled.

“Tell me, Meridith Jones, do you fear death?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, see you on Tuesday!! :D


	52. Now's not the best time

“Brace up yards and haul to the wind! Don’t stall, men! Full-bore into the abyss!”

The _Dutchman_ plunged into Calypso’s maelstrom, guided by the irresistible force of the currents, with the _Endeavour_ in tow. On the other side, beginning its dangerous descent into the gaping mouth of the sea, the _Pearl_ followed suit.

Your crew yelled, but never in fear. Not while you and Davy Jones guided them. You felt their excitement thrumming in the air, readying the cannons, preparing the gunpowder, sharpening their swords – the time had come for the final showdown.

“We need to put space between us and the _Endeavour_!”, you screamed at your father, holding the helm with all the strength you could muster to prevent the ship from teetering into the abyss. “We’re sitting ducks!”

“All to starboard!”, he ordered, and you began turning the helm. “Let’s face them, eye to eye! Prepare to board!”

The storm lashed out against the _Dutchman_ , soaking you to the bone, and as used as you were to being wet, you couldn’t help but shudder.

She was still there.

It was fainter, a rumour in the back of your mind, but she was there.

_You lied to me._

_You will pay_.

A wave crashed against the hull of the _Dutchman_ as it turned on itself to meet the Endeavour and you were jerked to the side, fearing for a second that you’d slip on the drenched wood of the deck and fall into the mouth of a whirlpool.

You looked down into its eye and wished you hadn’t.

Swimming in circles, waiting for you while licking their lipless mouths, were more ahuizotls than you could count. Their skin was almost translucent, like the turbid waters of Tlalocan, and their eyes the sickly yellow of drowned Hell. A grim reminder of the fate that awaited any who fell. A true army, lingering until their mistress gave them the signal.

When she did, you were dead meat.

Looking up, your prospects weren’t much better.

You gripped the helm with rage when you thought of Calypso’s treason. She’d promised that as soon as she were free she’d be gone, and instead she’d turned on you. It was her fault that Chalchiuhtlicue was now trying to kill you and your friends, her fault that all your plans had gone to shit.

And still you weren’t entirely surprised. You too would’ve have rained death on the people who’d made your life a living hell.

But your father…

Davy Jones’ face was pale, torn by anguish at seeing Calypso again in all her force and glory, once more against him.

The _Pearl_ ’s cannons boomed and the deck of the _Endeavour_ splintered. Even if they were on the other side of the whirlpool, they’d aimed perfectly straight against Beckett’s ship.

“Ready to board!”, you screamed, echoing your father. “Don’t leave a single one of them alive! And don’t die! That’s an order!”

A tentacle closed around your hand on the helm and suddenly you were looking into your father’s eyes.

“Go”, he said. “First Mate Jones”.

Beckett had taken everything from you and now it was your turn to take it from him. You nodded, silently thanking him for the invitation, and ran for the deck and the ropes that your crew was gathering for the boarding. The rain stuck your clothes and your hair to your skin, but you didn’t care.

Maccus handed you a rope and smiled.

“Ready to board, Chief”.

“Ready to board! Three! Two! One!” The two ships neared, almost touching, as the eddy roared on.

“ _GO!_ ”

You jumped.

* * *

“Well”, said Captain Teague, tapping his foot on the deck of his _Troubadour_. “This wasn’t exactly what I imagined when the lass spoke of war”.

Around him, all the hundreds of pirate ships that had gathered, captained by the remaining six Pirate Lords, stared at… nothing.

Outside the circumference of the whirlpool, the weather was still rather nice and, unless one’s ship was in the first row, nobody actually knew what was going on. On the other side of the sea, the British fleet stood very still, very quiet.

Nothing moved.

“But are we going to fight?”, someone asked.

“What’s going on? Can anybody see anything?”

“Do you think we’ll be done by teatime?”

“I think I had rum somewhere…”

Teague shut up his crew with a single glance, but didn’t give any orders.

Mistress Ching, who in any case couldn’t see anything at all, stood at the helm of her _Ningpo_ , as if waiting for something to happen.

“Madame”, asked one of her attendants, “shouldn’t we… attack? Or something?”

“No, you imbecile”, she retorted, as cutting as the best of her blades. “Why would we risk our lives when we can just wait and reap the benefits of other’s efforts just as easily?”

The attendant withdrew, nodding lightly, and looked at the piece of sea that had sunk with the _Pearl_ , the _Dutchman_ and the _Endeavour_ and imagined something rather exciting was going on down there, even if she couldn’t see it.

“Well”, she sighed. “That’s underwhelming”.

* * *

You landed on the deck of the _Endeavour_ just as several of the men who’d managed to survive the attack of the ahuizotls boarded the _Dutchman_ , but you didn’t have time to worry about the crew you’d left behind. Not as two soldiers lunged at you, ready to stab you to oblivion. You dodged and ducked, slipping on the watery deck of the Endeavour, but managed to avoid their swords by rolling to one side and sliced them in two as you got up.

You had to blow up the _Endeavour_ into little pieces before it forced the _Dutchman_ deeper into the maelstrom. You couldn’t risk your ship and crew falling right into the hands of Calypso and Chalchiuhtlicue, especially because one look at the heart of the whirlpool had confirmed your worst fears: there was a special type of death awaiting you all if you were to lose that battle. It wouldn’t be fast and it wouldn’t be peaceful.

You had to win; there was no other way out.

You hacked your way across the deck, looking for the entrance to the lower decks of the ship, hoping that there would be enough gunpowder to send the Endeavour to the bottom of the sea, and had to cut down several more men before you spotted the stairs and ran for them.

You didn’t see the stray ahuizotl until it jumped at you, jaws open and ready to shred you to bits.

A gunshot boomed from behind you and the monster was propelled back, a smoking hole in the middle of its forehead. You turned on your heels and found yourself staring right at the smouldering barrel of Barbossa’s gun.

Somewhere, your heart skipped a beat.

“You’re welcome”.

“It would’ve been barely a scratch”.

Barbossa laughed, as much as he could being as soaked and shaky as you were, and walked up to you and kissed you.

He tasted salty, but also sweeter than you’d ever known him, and when you broke apart there was a fire in your eyes.

“I need to blow this thing up. Help me get the gunpowder ready downstairs”.

“Will we have time to get out afterwards?”

“There’s only one way to find out, right?”

As you fought your way through the _Endeavour_ , you realised you’d never really taken up arms alongside Barbossa in a real fight, and you marvelled at how well you fit together. It was as if one was an extension of the other, parrying, stabbing, ducking and feinting – you never missed a beat, you never stumbled. It was perfection. You both had the same arrogant and dishevelled style of fighting, and you found yourself revelling in the feeling.

Barbossa mouthed something and a bullet landed inches from your temple, splintering wood and leaving a gash in your cheek.

You turned, gun in hand, and aimed for your attacker but surprise held your finger from the trigger.

“Motherfucker”, you whispered under your breath, and Beckett shot again, this time landing the bullet right between your eyes.

You fell back, pushed by the force of the gunshot and the furious quivering of the ship, but managed to hold onto the boxes that dotted the passageway to the lower decks.

“Meridith!”, yelled Barbossa, and had to jump aside to avoid Beckett’s shots.

A bullet in the head was no small thing. It itched and gave you an especially nasty sort of headache for days, as well as the unsavoury feeling of your brain pulling itself back together and your bones reforming. All in all, you’d never liked it, especially not when it left you incapacitated for longer than you liked.

But not this time.

A fire ignited inside you, an uncontrollable explosion, and as if someone was pushing you forward, propping you up, you got back to your feet, a still smoking hole in the middle of your face.

You daren’t look behind you for fear of what you may discover as you felt Death’s freezing fingers on your nape.

“How can you still be alive!?”, screamed Beckett, shakily aiming his gun at you again. The ahuizotls had made short work of him: he’d lost his left arm, which was now nothing but a bloody stump, and his chest and face were raked by the claws of the creatures, which had left gruesome scars that made him look even less human that your fellow crewmen at the _Dutchman_.

“That’s my fucking line!”, you replied, and took the next shot point-blank in the chest, but even that didn’t stop your advance. You walked calmly but with powerful, long strides towards the cowering man, who emptied his gun on you to no avail. You wondered what you looked like, with gun wounds and smoke coming out from every side of your body, and whether you resembled the Lord of Mictlan at all.

Finally you stood before him, and saw him as the odious, craven worm that he was. You didn’t hate him, you didn’t fear him, you didn’t pity him.

You just wished oblivion for him.

“Tell me, Lord Beckett”, you whispered as you leaned into him, crushing his gun with one hand and tilting his chin up with the other. “Do you fear death?”

His bones cracked under your fingers as if he were made of porcelain.

“Meridith…”

Barbossa looked at you, at the body crumpled at your feet, barely a shadow of the human being he’d once been, and at the blood that now coated your hands, but he made no comment of it. You felt dazed, like when Chalchiuhtlicue had possessed you in the temple in Singapore, but somehow now everything was… clearer. As if you were breathing air, fresh air, instead of the stagnant waters that surrounded the Lady of Tlalocan.

Something was changing.

“We don’t have time, the _Dutchman_ is nearing the eye of the maelstrom too much for my taste, and the _Pearl_ will follow suit if we don’t disengage soon. Move!”, he shouted, and you reacted immediately.

It was easy enough to find the storage area for the gunpowder, as well as cutting down the poor sods that tried to stop you from reaching it, but you were too close to let anybody stand in your way. Just like when, an eternity ago, Koehler and Twigg had stacked all the gunpowder in the _Interceptor_ with you inside, you and Barbossa brought it together and drew a line right to the door, so that you would have time to run before everything went up in flames.

Amazed that you’d managed to light a match in the middle of a whirlpool with a supernatural storm lashing against your ship, you stared at Barbossa before nodding lightly.

“Go first. I can run faster and I have more chances of surviving the explosion”.

“Not if you fall into the maelstrom. I won’t leave you”.

“Hector, don’t play the hero. It’s not the time and it doesn’t suit you. If I wanted a hero I’d have snogged Will Turner”.

Barbossa chuckled and accepted that he wouldn’t be able to convince you otherwise.

“I’ll be waiting for you on deck”, he said. “Don’t be late”.

You saw him run and charge against the few soldiers that were still left alive and after losing sight of him you inspired deeply. You could still hear her, ever fainter, as if she were fighting the power that emanated from the maelstrom.

_You lied._

_You…_

‘I will pay, yeah’, you thought, and turned your attention to the fire dancing in your hand. You wouldn’t have much time.

A shadow flickered and smiled behind you as you threw the fire onto the gunpowder trail and dashed for your life.

“EVERYBODY BACK TO THE _DUTCHMAN_!”, you bellowed, scraping your throat bare. “RETREAT! NOW!”

And so they did.

With brutal efficiency, the members of your crew that were left aboard the _Endeavour_ scuttled back to their mother ship, starboard to starboard, as you rushed to the deck and scanned it to find Barbossa.

He was there, as he’d promised, and you barely had time to grab him by the hand and jump, a massive leap of faith, that landed you on the deck of the _Dutchman_ seconds before the _Endeavour_ exploded into a thousand pieces.

Splinters flew everywhere as you rolled on the floor, bumping into Barbossa. The explosion rocked the Dutchman and propelled it deeper into the maelstrom, dangerously toeing the line of the abyss.

“Remind me never to let you go near the _Pearl_ ’s magazine”, coughed Barbossa, but you couldn’t even laugh at his joke. You crawled towards him, almost with desperation, and pressed your forehead to his, cradling his face in your hands.

“You’re alive”, you muttered. “We’re alive. Thank the gods”.

“I don’t think they’re the ones to thank right now”, he replied, taking you by the back of your neck, and brought your mouth to his. You kissed, as if the fighting around you didn’t matter, as if you had all the time in the world, and when Barbossa broke away from you, his voice was a raspy whisper.

“When all of this is over, stay with me”.

You smiled, whether out of happiness or awkwardness you wouldn’t be able to say.

“Dear me, Captain Barbossa, are you proposing to me?”

Around you, swords clashed and men yelled, but in the heat of the moment you couldn’t focus on what was going on. The world could be burning down for all you cared.

Barbossa gave you a crooked smile that made you swoon.

“What would you say if I was?”

“That you’re the least romantic son of a bitch I’ve ever known and that you wouldn’t know how to spot a romantic moment if I slapped you in the face with it. And also that I already gave you my answer, Hector”.

You smiled back, the strangest and most wondrous feeling overflowing your chest.

“With you, always”.

“May I kiss the bride?”, he joked, and you both turned at the same time to block the sword that was coming at you.

Even through the wind and the unforgiving storm rain that beat against the _Dutchman_ , you could see Pintel and Ragetti’s startled expressions as your swords clashed.

You couldn’t have looked more surprised if you’d tried.

“What are you doing!?”, bellowed Barbossa, and the two men jumped back offering an apologetic smile.

“Well… William Turner ordered to board the _Dutchman_ and we just followed, sir!”

And so he had.

You looked around, the glee at your triumph against the _Endeavour_ vanishing like smoke on a rainy day. All around you, the _Pearl_ ’s crew fought against the _Dutchman_ , both sides with terrifying ferocity. It wasn’t a mistake or a misunderstanding.

It was a fight to the death.

“Why?”, was the only thing you managed to ask.

“I don’t know, we were just following orders!”, replied a sorrowful Pintel, but you weren’t listening to him anymore.

You frantically searched for your father with your eyes, jumping from face to face, from sword to sword, seeing your crew, your _family_ getting their bellies open by the pirates of the _Pearl_ whom you’d called friends.

And finally, on the quarterdeck, you spotted Davy Jones fighting William Turner.

It was a death sentence for the boy, and you both knew it, but it was remarkable the passion and frenzy with which he insisted in throwing himself against the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. He’d managed stand his ground until now, but he was beginning to look tired, and Jones had no mercy to spare for traitors.

“Thought you could outwit me, boy? Outrun me? You’ll pay the price of your foolishness soon enough!”

His voice rang through the storm and the rain redoubled its efforts against the deck of the _Dutchman_ , as if it approved of the mercilessness of its owner.

“You lied to me and betrayed the _Dutchman_ , and for that no mercy will be shown to you. No love will save you today, boy!”

Will tried to attack, but he slipped on the sodden surface and his legs gave way under him, falling into a perfect position for the final blow.

“Will!”, screamed Elizabeth, running towards his lover, but she was too late. Davy Jones’ sword fell, unstoppable.

As the point of his blade scratched Will’s skin, he stayed his hand.

The whole ship held its breath as Davy Jones looked up, rage burning in his eyes, straight at Jack Sparrow, who stood on the other side of the deck and, with a crooked grin, pressed a knife to Davy Jones’ heart.

“I don’t think you want to be doing that, mate”.


	53. Endgame

Being a creature of legend yourself, having grown up in the _Flying Dutchman_ as Davy Jones’ daughter and with the kraken as your pet, it was quite surprising that certain things could still scare you. But when you were looking death in the face, the gaping mouth of sea that wanted to drown you and take you to its depths, you had to put things into perspective.

You were terrified. And not only because of the two goddesses that were striving to kill you and your family.

You’d never felt yourself smaller and more powerless than when you saw Jack Sparrow take the heart from the chest and press a knife to its beating flesh.

“I don’t think you want to be doing that, mate”, he said, nodding to the point of Davy Jones’ blade, which hovered inches away from Will Turner’s chest.

Jones’ tentacles spasmed and then went very, very still, but he didn’t remove his sword. Elizabeth held her breath. You all did.

“And what will you do, Jack Sparrow?” He spat out the man’s name, dragging the last letters out of his mouth. “Will you kill me and take the helm of the _Dutchman_?”

“Yes! That is exactly what I’m planning to do. After all, the _Dutchman_ needs a captain, does it not?”

Your father left out a sour laugh, throwing his head backwards, but there was no mirth in his eyes when he fixed them again on Jack.

“I know you, Jack Sparrow. You’re thinking of the immortality, of the vessel that you’ll sail over the seas forever. But you know nothing of the pain and hardships and cursedness of this existence. Of this death in life. Or maybe you do. If you desire this so much, why haven’t you stabbed the heart yet?”

The cocky smile vanished from Jack’s lips as the rain lashed out around you and you knew your father’s words had struck true. He hesitated and it was all the time you needed to throw yourself at him and grab the heart.

After that, everything happened very fast.

Bootstrap Bill, appearing out of nowhere, tackled Davy Jones and threw him to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream, pushing him away from Will.

You and Sparrow wrangled on the deck of the _Dutchman_ , punches flying everywhere, and the heart slipped from his hand and slid on the floor, out of your reach.

A thunder like a woman’s howl exploded next to the ship and the _Dutchman_ tottered towards the eye of the maelstrom, almost capsizing.

You saw ahuizotls in the water, licking their lipless mouths.

You heard Chalchiuhtlicue screaming inside your head.

You felt the bony hand of Death caressing the back of your neck.

And then everything went still as Will Turner slammed his knife into the heart.

“This is for my father”, he whispered, and your world came tumbling down.

You didn’t realise that you were screaming, a guttural wail of pure grief, until your mouth began tasting like iron as you sped towards your father, who toppled to the ground on the other side of the deck.

Other people screamed, and you thought you heard somebody yell out your name, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. Your crew started falling to their knees, clutching their heads as the _Dutchman_ began to creak and crack and become undone. You didn’t care, not as you reached your father’s side and found him trembling, eyes lost in the storm above.

Raindrops fell on his face like tears, and you wouldn’t have been able to say who was crying for whom.

“Dad”, you whispered, your voice coarse and shaky, as you took his face in your hands and pressed your forehead against his. “Dad, please. Please”.

“There must always be a captain”, he muttered, as if he couldn’t recognise you, and you couldn’t take it. He couldn’t go, not like this.

“Dad, please, please, _please_!”

But it was useless. The heart was in its dying throes, its last beats thumping against the blade that pinned it to the ground.

“Beto”.

You spun your head to your father, whose eyes suddenly cleared and finally looked at you.

“I’m so proud of you, Beto. So proud”.

“And you’ll continue to be! Please don’t die on me, don’t!”

Tears clouded your vision, but Jones just smiled.

“The _Dutchman_ must always have a captain”, he repeated, fixing you with his gaze.

“No… No, no!”

“I’m finally free, Beto. Free…”

“ _Meridith!!_ ”

Barbossa’s voice shook you awake from the nightmare you were living and you turned to him. He was hanging to a rope, ready to return to the _Pearl_ and flee the discomposing carcass of the _Dutchman_ , and he held out a hand to you.

One last lifeline.

“Meridith!”, he yelled again. “Come with me! The _Dutchman_ is sinking! You can’t let her catch you!”

You didn’t know whether he meant Calypso or Chalchiuhtlicue, but it was all the same to you. You’d lied to them. You’d been made to pay. If you sank with the _Dutchman_ you’d be done for, for they wouldn’t let you return to the land of the living. You weren’t bound to the ship, you could still escape…

But then you looked at your father, his eyes beginning to cloud as the storm eased just for him, and at the rest of your crew, suffering from the demise of their captain and the disintegration of the curse, and you knew you wouldn’t leave them.

Not even for Hector Barbossa.

“Meridith”, he pleaded when he saw the look in your eyes. So many tears were running down your cheeks they were indistinguishable from the rain, and you just smiled at him and mouthed ‘go’. Barbossa opened his eyes wide in surprise and shook his head with disbelief, but then Will yanked him back towards the _Pearl_.

“We have to go! The _Dutchman_ will sink and we can’t have the _Pearl_ follow it!”

“But Meridith…!”

“ _Now_ , man!”

He wasn’t given a choice. It was Elizabeth who threw herself onto Barbossa’s rope and forced him away from the _Dutchman_. He was still looking directly into your eyes when you lost sight of him in the storm.

Crouching, you took your father’s head in your arms and cradled him, whispering softly to yourself.

“Please”, you said. “Please don’t let him die. If you love him, please don’t let him die”.

And then the _Dutchman_ cracked open and split in half and the roaring waves of the divine maelstrom fell onto you with the force of a thousand explosions.

You were swept away and lost sight of everything: of your father, of the ship, of the sky itself. Your world became black and painful. It hurt. Your head hurt, your limbs hurt, even your insides hurt as Chalchuhtlicue’s power sought to break you apart. Water lodged into every orifice of your body, pressing you down like lead, and you sank, sank, sank, dragged by the supernatural force of the currents, and even then you fought. Even then you had a single thought that rang inside your mind.

 _Please don’t let him die_.

And then He appeared, a blood-smeared smile upon His face and a hundred eyes slung from His neck, with His obsidian butterfly in tow.

_Do you fear Death, Meridith Jones?_

His voice echoed your father’s, a cruel mockery even in your final moments, but you wouldn’t yield. Not today, not ever. You’d been asked that question a hundred times already, and a hundred times your answer had been the same.

 _No_.

 _Good_.

With one last howl, the maelstrom closed on itself, taking the remains of the _Dutchman_ to the depths of Tlalocan, and the sea became still once again, as if nothing had ever marred its glittery surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hit me 🙈  
> See you next week for the last two chapters!


	54. Did you think you'd seen the last of me?

The sun shone brighter than ever upon the two opposing fleets and Barbossa fell to his knees.

The _Pearl_ bobbed gently on the water, still reeling from the fight inside the maelstrom and the speed with which it had disappeared, as if it had all been nothing but a mirage.

But it had been real enough.

The _Endeavour_ was gone.

So was the _Dutchman_.

Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face and she made no effort to disguise them. She’d been the one to pull Barbossa away, realising it was too late, that you wouldn’t move and that, unless they did, they’d be sucked in too, but no matter how inevitable your demise had been it didn’t make it any easier to digest.

Silence hung heavy in the _Pearl_ , despite the yells of curiosity and celebration that came from the pirate fleet behind it, and the men eyed each other nervously. They were sore and bloodied from the fight, but the warmth of the sun’s rays had begun to dry their clothes. All eyes were on Barbossa now.

He trembled, from head to toe, bent over the deck, clutching at the wooden floor and with eyes fixed on the patch of sea where you’d disappeared moments ago.

He felt physically ill. He wanted to retch his guts out. He wanted to scream, to kick, to stamp his feet. He wanted to cry until he went blind and didn’t have to look anymore upon a world you weren’t in, a world in which he’d held out his hand and you’d refused it.

But nothing came to him. His body refused to even move.

He’d read it in your eyes, clear as day, and he knew you well enough to know that you’d never leave your father’s side. From the cursed instant that Will Turner stabbed the heart he’d lost you.

He knew that, but he couldn’t accept it.

He couldn’t have lost you. He _couldn’t_.

“Barbossa”, said a voice behind him, and the pirate’s whole body tensed and pure wrath took over.

“You mongrel _bastard!!!_ ”, he yelled, flinging his sword at Will Turner, who, having lost his knife and sword in the maelstrom, could only duck and fall back before Barbossa’s fury.

“You killed her! You stabbed the bloody heart! You doomed them all!”

His words spilled out, the tears he couldn’t cry, and Will couldn’t keep a grimace of regret from flashing in his face.

“I promised my father I’d free him!”, he retorted. “I had to do it!”

Barbossa swung again with lethal precision, the grief hardly marring his prowess with the sword, and Will managed to avoid it by inches.

“You _murdered_ her!”

“And we’re about to be murdered ourselves if we don’t do something about _that_ ”, intervened Jack, pointing to the British fleet. “I don’t know about you two lovebirds but I’d rather not go meet darling Meridith just yet”.

A dozen heads swung towards the other side of the sea and the crew of the _Pearl_ felt their hearts sink to their feet when they saw a warship, almost twice the _Endeavour_ ’s size, marching through the rows of the British fleet, proud and unstoppable, ready to finish off the job Beckett hadn’t been able to. In its wake, the rest of the ships fell into formation and advanced.

The war wasn’t over.

Barbossa’s eyes prickled. The salt stung them, but he couldn’t have said whether it was from the sea or from the inevitable defeat that the warship announced. Was the pirate army ready to fight? Was he?

You would be. You’d never admit defeat to easily. You’d go down with a fight.

“All hands on deck!”, he yelled, startling every man around him. Fire ran through his veins, one last bout of energy and rage before he joined you in Tlalocan. “Move, you rotting mangy dogs! Move!! Or would you rather die forsaking your freedom and your dignity? No! We die on our feet, fighting until our last breath!”

The whole _Pearl_ held its breath, looking at its captain, and then Elizabeth took a step forward and joined Barbossa.

“Yea!”, she cried out, raising her sword. “The Brethren will still be looking here, to us, to the _Black Pearl_ , to lead. And what will they see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship? No. No, they will see free men and freedom! And what the enemy will see is the flash of our cannons. They will hear the ring of our swords, and they will know what we can do. By the sweat of our brows and the strength of our backs, and the courage of our hearts. Hoist the colours!”

With inflamed spirits and its bone-crossed flag waving in the wind, the _Pearl_ raised anchor and once more walked into battle, readying its cannons and sharpening its swords.

But it did so alone.

The rest of the pirate fleet hesitated and held back, but the _Pearl_ pressed ahead. They’d risked too much and lost too much to give up now. They fight, to the bitter end if necessary.

They warship came closer and one could almost smell the bloodthirst in the air.

 _Not long now, Meridith_ , thought Barbossa, clutching his sword hard enough that his knuckles went white. _Wait for me_.

Closer. Within minutes they’d be within range of the warship’s cannons. It was a suicidal battle, and they knew it.

“Barbossa”. The captain didn’t even bother looking at Jack Sparrow as he came up to him. The pirate stared right ahead. “Have you forgotten the tales? The _Dutchman_ must always have a captain”.

That got his attention.

Barbossa’s head snapped towards Jack and found him smirking enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

As his sole answer, Jack tipped his hat towards the water as the British warship fell into the _Pearl_ ’s range.

“Enjoy the view, mate”.

“Hold your fire!”, yelled Elizabeth.

“They’ll blow us to pieces!”

“Not if we do it first!”

“It’s too big! We’ll never take it down!”

“Hold your fire!”, she insisted, and the men obeyed. She was the Queen.

The warship’s cannons were deployed, gunpowder loaded. It was now or never.

One last victorious salve.

“ _FIRE_!”

But the cannonballs never reached the warship.

The sea exploded in a massive splash of water and foam and the British vessel was split into two by the hull and mast of the ship that emerged from the deeps before the astonished eyes of the _Pearl_ ’s crew.

Dark water streamed off the ship’s surface, dribbling down its sides as it pushed to the side the remains of the warship and stood proud under the light of the sun.

Barbossa realised that it wasn’t the water that was dark.

The ship gleamed pitch black, from its hull to its mast to its sails, all of it with a glint and a shine that you wouldn’t find anywhere but in stone.

Obsidian.

The _Flying Dutchman_ flew again, stronger than ever, and Barbossa choked back a sob when he saw who was proudly leading it from the helm.

“Ready on the guns!”, you ordered, turning the helm to guide the _Dutchman_ into battle.

Your hair danced in the wind under a bright scarlet wide-brimmed hat, with four jet-black feathers that matched your vest, as dark and oily as the rest of the _Dutchman_. You spared only a glance at the _Pearl_ , your eyes immediately settling on the one man for whom you’d crossed Mictlan and back.

“Finish them off!”, you yelled, and your voice rang with the authority of a captain. “Load the guns! Straight ahead!”

The men raised their eyes at you. No more scales, no more algae, no more rotting carcasses of half-made monsters. The curse was over and they were human again, at least in appearance. They eyed you and fell silent. There was something about you, something different about the way in which you moved and you carried yourself.

One of them took a step forward. Gone were the serrated teeth and the elongated face, but you’d know Maccus anywhere. He looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time.

“Will you follow me?”

Your new First Mate smiled.

“Load the guns!”, he screamed, and the whole ship burst into action. “For the _Dutchman_! For Captain Jones!”

“For Captain Jones!”

Whether they meant you or your father didn’t matter. You carried his legacy and would continue to do so to victory. The _Dutchman_ pressed ahead, against the wall of ships of the British fleet, and the _Pearl_ followed, and soon a flood of pirate vessels joined you, starting with Mistress Ching’s fleet, who despite not having been able to see anything, was quietly smiling to herself.

“Full canvas!”, screamed Elizabeth, leading the _Pearl_ into the fray.

“Aye, full canvas!”, tried to follow Jack, but the crew had already exploded into action.

The remains of the British warship trembled, as if the realization of what kind of mess it had just walked into, but it was too late to backtrack. Squeezed between the two pirate ships, with the burning fire of the _Pearl_ and the otherworldly glimmer of the _Dutchman_ , it didn’t even have time to fire before their cannons blasted it to splinters.

“ _FIRE!!_ ”

Cannonfire erupted on both sides, the British fleet finally springing into action, but it found an unbreakable wall in the pirate armada, that responded with an unmatched ferocity, for even if they may never admit it, Elizabeth’s words had struck true: they weren’t fighting solely for their lives, but for their lifestyle, their freedom and their future. Losing was not an option.

The Caribbean shook with the sound of gunpowder and wood splintering and the screams of men, and at the head of it all, the _Flying Dutchman_ , honouring its reputation as the fastest ship in the Caribbean, tearing through British ships as it they were ripe fruit, its obsidian sails reaping lives as it passed.

And then the first British vessel turned on its heel.

And then another.

And another.

Soon the whole fleet was running away, its numbers dwindled to almost nothing, and the pirates saw it happen with eyes wide with amazement.

Victory.

Total and utter victory.

Hats flew in glee and celebration, even in those ships at the back of the pirate fleet who hadn’t even caught a whiff of battle, much less of the maelstrom, and only knew that their pirating days weren’t over. Elizabeth and Will kissed passionately and Jack smirked at his namesake monkey, who eyed him suspiciously in case he got strange ideas.

Only Barbsosa stared at the black ship in the distance, whose obsidian sails fluttered in the wind, creating a disquieting image. You were on the quarterdeck, leaning on the balustrade, and he though he saw your lips move. A murmur of butterfly wings floated over the foamy waves and brought your words to him, almost a caress stroking his skin after thinking you lost forever.

 _Meet me at the beach. I’ll be waiting for you_.

When he looked again, the _Dutchman_ was gone.


	55. This is not goodbye

“I think you were right. I should’ve thought better before getting involved with pirates”.

Barbossa chuckled lightly, but then his mood darkened again. Even after sitting down on a rock, he hadn’t stopped fidgeting since he’d disembarked on the beach of the nearest island you’d found after spotting you from afar, and he hadn’t looked you in the eye. Not once.

The sun was getting low and a bloodshot light tinted the horizon, as if reminding you of all the lives that had been spent. It hadn’t been much of a war, what with the British fleet had disbanded in horror after seeing what short work you were doing of its most powerful ships, but not even the Armada was rival for the power of Mictlan and the cannons of the _Black Pearl_.

Still, life had been lost at sea that day.

Seeing the _Dutchman_ anchored in the distance and knowing that you’d never see Davy Jones at its helm again felt like a blade twisting in your guts. Everything had changed. The _Dutchman_ was still your home, but it was… different. It was a new home, one you’d have to rebuild from scratch to truly make it yours.

“You know”, said Barbossa, bringing you back to reality, “this is the second time I’ve seen you die at sea. Or thought you had”.

“We’re in a dangerous line of work”.

“You go looking for the most dangerous lines in the whole bloody Caribbean, Meridith”.

“I like excitement in my job, so sue me”.

He laughed with bitterness and looked at you, finally, and you almost wished he hadn’t. His eyes moved from yours, which now had an otherworldly gleam to them, to your chest.

To where a heart now beat.

“What happened down there?”

You hesitated. How did you answer that? How did you put into words the meeting you’d had with the Lord of Death and the Lady of Tlalocan? You couldn’t.

“We reached an agreement”, you said simply.

“We?”

“The rightful owners of these waters and these lands. Mictlantecuhtli and Chalchiuhtlicue. Not the most amusing soiree I’ve ever been to, I must say”.

“What kind of agreement?”

“Oh, just the usual, you know, ferrying the souls of the dead, doing their dark bidding… Keeping the peace around here, generally”.

“And in exchange? Do you have to put your heart in a box? Are you banned from stepping on land except once in every ten years?”

“No. Just me, like this, forever”.

Barbossa frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

“There don’t seem to me to be no downsides to this”.

You curved your lips, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t keep your sadness from your smile.

“There are, Hector, there are. I’m truly immortal now”.

“How’s that a bad thing?”

“You’re not”.

It took him a few seconds to take in the full meaning of your words, but when he looked up at you again with wide eyes you knew he’d understood the extent of what you’d sacrificed.

You knelt down before him and took his hand in yours.

“Here”.

His fingers were warm and shaky against your skin, where you’d opened your shirt, and there was something about that touch that felt different to every other time you’d been together. There was nothing sexual about it, even though his hand was splayed against your chest, but it was still terribly intimate. You’d never show or tell this to any other human being while you lived, but you’d tell him.

A soft beating pulsed under Barbossa’s fingers and you trembled slightly. It thrummed, hard, almost metallic.

“It’s obsidian. Mictlantecuhtli’s seal. The proof of my oath to him”.

“So you can’t be killed”.

“I can’t put it in a box, like my father did, but neither would I want to. He did that out of heartbreak and desperation, but I, Hector, I… I’m happy. You’ve given me something nobody else could have. You made me dream and hope and learn how to be alive. You made me realise what it meant to trust and to be willing to sacrifice everything, but more than anything you made me want to _live_. I love you. I can’t put my heart in a box, but I need you to know that, even though it’s now a cold lump of rock, it’s yours. It’s yours, forever”.

There were no words to express the feelings that flooded you both as Barbossa took you in his arms and held you tightly for what seemed a lifetime, and what wouldn’t you have given for that moment to never end.

“I want you”, he whispered under his breath, now rough and laboured. “I love you and I’m never letting you go”.

“Don’t”, you managed to reply before he caught your mouth with his and kissed you, passionately, fiercely, as is he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he released you. You wanted him too, you wanted him so bad, and now feeling washed over you, everything that you’d felt when you were in the Locker with him but enhanced, every part of his tongue against yours, every bit of his skin against yours, the mere graze of his fingers setting your whole body aflame.

“Hector”, you panted, sinking your fingers into his hair, and he began kissing your neck and your collar bones, tearing a moan from your lips. For the first time in your life you were sweating, and felt that you were wearing too many clothes, so you didn’t complain in the least when Barbossa tore through your vest, going as far as ripping off some of its buttons, and slipped his hands inside your blouse, slowly caressing your belly and tracing your curves with his fingers.

You shuddered with desire and anticipation as he reached your breasts and slowly came to rest upon your nipples. His hands were shaky, but despite everything he’d been through at sea that day, they were warm, and you reacted to his touch. Your breath hitched as your nipples perked under his fingers, and as Barbossa began trailing down your neck, leaving kisses everywhere in his wake, you found yourself wanting him more than ever.

Whether it was your heightened senses after that near brush with death or the new, enhanced being that you’d become after your deal with Mictlantecuhtli, every single stroke of Barbossa’s body against yours felt new, different, like a gulp of the sweetest water you’d ever drank, and you wanted more, more, more.

“Meridith”, he mumbled as you fumbled with his own vest and shirt, eager to get your lips on his skin and make him yours.

Barbossa straddled you, his whole weight on yours, and the beach’s sand bit into your back. You could feel every little grain, every stone, every wave that kissed the shore no matter how far they were from you, but the only thing you could focus on was on the man on top of you and on the hands that roamed your body.

He was as hard as you were wet, and his bulge pressed against your crotch as he ground against you, kissing you all over, and you instinctively raised your hips to take him in. Barbossa groaned and stopped for a second, unlike his hands. He finished ripping open your shirt and immediately focused on your nipples, sucking and biting and making your skin get goosebumps all over as his hand slipped into your breeches, blindly groping for your wet slit, and when his fingers began stroking you, you couldn’t help but moan into the night.

“I want your mouth on me”, you groaned feverishly, and Barbossa gave you a cheeky look that made you want him even more.

“I am inclined to acquiesce to your request”, he chuckled, and before you could protest his terrible timing for bad jokes, he pulled down your trousers and applied his mouth to you.

You’d come so far from the two strangers who’d met on a burning Road Town so many months ago – the way in which Barbossa now knew his way around your body was uncanny. His tongue slithered up and down your slit, just teasingly enough to make you crave that moment where he’d enter you, and he stroked with his teeth and lips your engorged clit until you were almost crazy with desire.

And then his tongue entered you and your insides clenched with pleasure.

You dared look down and found his eyes staring at you as his mouth continued to pleasure you. You felt a surge of arousal and couldn’t take your eyes away of that breathtaking sight that was the man you loved defiantly making love to you.

“Hector”, you moaned, grabbing his hair, and his tongue continued to play with you, running up and down your slit and entering you, and every time he touched your clit, gently rubbing it on the top and bringing you closer and closer to release. You could feel it building in your core as your hips buckled and your breath hitched, and the most wonderful feeling of them all: your heart pounded in your chest.

It was the final rub, as Barbossa’s thumb pressed against your nub, that brought you over the edge. You came with your lover’s name on your lips, back arching and legs trembling with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, and then you fell limply on the sand.

It was strange, having to catch your breath after so long – especially since you knew your new humanity was nothing but a mirage; if anything, you were only more monstruous than before you’d signed the deal with Mictlantecuhtli, but it was so pleasant to have this moment, to be able to pretend otherwise…

“Bloody hell, Meridith”, said Barbossa, leaning on top of you. “That was… something”.

You chuckled.

“Is that all you’ve got, Captain Barbossa?”, you asked impishly, raising your eyebrows with as much sauce as you could muster, but you hoped the sweat and your being semi-naked on a Caribbean beach would do most of the work for you.

It did.

Barbossa let out a guttural laugh and kissed you fiercely on the lips, but you felt all the exertions of the fight had taken a toll on his body and his limbs trembled ever so slightly.

He ran his fingers over your neck and down your spine and you tipped your head back so he could leave a trail of kisses on your neck, slowly descending towards your breasts, but once he got there, after giving them a little nibble that made you chuckle, he just lingered. He leaned on his side, cheek against your skin, while his fingers absentmindedly brushed your breasts.

You _really_ liked when he did that.

“You know, you have beautiful breasts”, he said finally.

“I’ve always wondered about men’s fascination with them, actually. They’re just flesh, and every woman has two of them. They’re not such a big deal”.

“Well, they _do_ look wonderful on you”, he grinned, his index circling your nipple. It stiffened, and desire pooled inside you once more.

Your whole skin prickled and Barbossa knew it, but the bastard wanted to make you beg for it.

“Aren’t you the lucky one”, you grinned back, and pushed him flat on his back. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, captain. Maybe we should leave it at this for today?”

You leaned over him, pressing your breasts against his bare chest, and made sure that you were strategically situated on top of his bulging crotch. He was hard as rock, pleading to be released, but you could tease him a little longer, couldn’t you?

“Do that and I’ll make you wish you’d perished in that blasted maelstrom”, he whimpered, but you could clearly see his resolve weakening with the feast that lay before his eyes.

“Will you now?”, you purred, stretching yourself over him. “I’d like to see you try”.

He’d been too focused on your nakedness to notice your hands creeping up over his head, and suddenly Barbossa found himself overpowered, both of his wrists firmly kept in place by your supernatural strength.

“Meridith…”

“Shhh… You’re not in a position to complain, dear”.

“No, I’m in a position to do something much nastier”, he snorted, and you shut him up with a kiss.

He was half-naked himself already, but his pants were still very much present and not entirely welcome. You wanted him inside you so much you could feel your bones, probably also obsidian too now, rumbling with excitement.

You pressed against him, your cunt softly prodding his erection over the cloth, and he reacted to you. His whole body shuddered and Barbossa let out a moan and a sigh that definitely told you that you were going in the right direction.

Damn those trousers.

“This is way overdue”, you muttered, and released Barbossa to make you that cursed piece of fabric didn’t stand in your way.

You were ready for him, but Barbossa was… _glorious_. Eager, aching, craving to taste you, and you obliged.

The first nudge of his rock-hard cock inside of you was like a gunpowder discharge, shaking you to your core, and you went back for more. You rode Barbossa, whose hands roamed all over your body, grabbing at your hips, your breasts, even your hair, with abandon, as you moved up and down, driving him further into you.

You both trembled as one, under the starry night sky of the Caribbean and with the soft murmur of the waves accompanying your gasps and sighs, and even if you were a monster, even if you’d live forever and sail forever under a cursed banner, it would’ve all been worth it for this single moment, for you and him, together, finally.

You came, your second orgasm of the night jolting your body with pleasure, and Barbossa did so not long after, burying his head between your breasts and searching for your mouth to kiss you as though you’d slip between his fingers like a spectre in the night.

Your bodies fell limp onto the sand and, for a little while, nobody said anything. You just listened to the lull of the sea.

“So what happens now?”

You leant onto Barbossa’s chest, the slow thump of your heart, always a new sensation for you, in sync with his. The sunlight had died completely and only the torches lit aboard the _Pearl_ gave you some sense of space and distance. The _Dutchman_ had faded into the darkness, just another shadow of the night, but somehow you just knew where it was. You could feel it, and you always would from now on.

“What do you want to happen?”

Barbossa mulled over your words. The dim moonlight cast a pale light on your naked bodies, but you didn’t need any more than that. You knew his body by heart.

“Luckily for us, I’ve never been one to settle down with kids and a farm, in case you hadn’t noticed by now”.

“Dammit, I feel so cheated”, you laughed.

The smooth murmur of the waves breaking against the beach not far away from you soothed you, but it was also a grim reminder of the separation that awaited you come morning.

“We may only have a couple of decades left together”, you whispered, putting into words the thought that was eating you up inside.

Now it was Barbossa’s turn to laugh. You raised your eyebrows in suspicion.

“And you say it as if it’s nothing! My dear Miss Jones, have you any idea of what I would give for a few years at your side? And you’re giving me decades!”

You felt your eyes water and itch but you wouldn’t give Barbossa the satisfaction of making you cry; not before you’d made him turn on the waterworks too.

“And then”, he continued, “there’s always your damned crew. I suppose you could do with some healthy competition for the captaincy, yes?”

You smiled as you’d never smiled before, and pressed your forehead against his, if only to try and hold back your tears, but you couldn’t help two of them sliding down your cheeks. He was promising you an eternity together, giving up everything he had to sail with you. It was a dream come true.

But you couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t let him do it.

You gave him the truest smile you’d ever given anyone through your tears and kissed him, softly. He kissed you back, wrapping his hands around you.

“Live, Hector. And I’ll live with you”.

And for once you meant it.

“I love you”.

“I know”.

You kissed him again and this time there were no second thoughts. Only you and him and the night.

When dawn came, the rays of the sun bounced off the obsidian scales in the _Dutchman_ sails, which billowed in the wind like an undulating field of shadowy blades. You held onto the shrouds as the shore faded into the horizon and there was nothing but sea and sky, bleeding onto each other.

Eternity awaited.

“Orders, captain?”

Your crew lay in wait for you to give them instructions, with Maccus in the lead. It was strange seeing him without his shark teeth and elongated head, but it was him alright. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth and you were glad to have him.

You gave them all a wolfish grin and jumped from the shrouds to the quarterdeck, grabbing the helm.

“Forward and down, gentlemen. We have a lot of work to catch up on”.

The _Dutchman_ immediately sprang into action and you looked at the crew with pride. The ship shook for a second and plunged into the warm waters of the Caribbean, and you thought you heard a bony laugh carried on the wind.

Let the gods think they had you. They were in for a treat.

“ _Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me_ ”, you sang under your breath as water surrounded you. “ _Drink up me hearties yo ho!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, this has been a JOURNEY. When I began writing this fic in May I never imagined it would become such a long and convoluted story but I have enjoyed every second of it. And I'm so, soooo grateful for all of you people who have tagged along and lived Meridith's adventures with me. You're the best and you've encouraged me so much, so THANK YOU.  
> That being said, some of you may feel that some plotlines have been left up in the air or unfinished, or maybe that the ending was a bit rushed, and I say: you're right! What about Will? And Elizabeth? And why did I decide to off poor Davy Jones? So many questions!  
> That's why I'm writing a SPIN-OFF CHAPTER (mic drop) as a sort of epilogue, with an adventure of its own, completely steering away from canon, so that you can see what our beloved characters are doing five years after the end and so that I can finish properly some things that I wasn't too happy with. I can't say when I'll finish the spin-off, maybe in a month or two, but it's in the works and I hope you enjoy it too!  
> Again, thanks so, SO MUCH for everything!


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